


Thorns and Blades

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Kushiel's Legacy Fusion, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angels, Assassination Plot(s), Atlético Madrid, BDSM, Bondage, Character Death, Conspiracy, Dubious Consent, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Flogging, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Intrigue, Jealousy, Love/Hate, Multi, Pain, Painplay, Prostitution, Royalty, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a kingdom born of angels, Fernando was touched by one of them, cursed or blessed to find pleasure in pain. Sold to the Court of Night Blooming Flowers, his fate as a beautiful but anonymous courtesan was sealed - but everything changes when his bond is purchased by the nobleman Diego Simeone, who teaches him how to use his body to obtain information. Guided into the bed chambers of Terre D'Ange's most influential nobles, Fernando uncovers a conspiracy against the throne so vast that even his teacher cannot see the whole of it…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The story is inspired by the Kushiel’s Legacy books by Jacqueline Carey (which I highly recommend if you’re into fantasy and erotica). I basically borrowed the universe, but tweaked the story a lot, so it’s different from the original plot, although they may be similarities.
> 
> I made a [scheme](http://booksaesthetics.tumblr.com/post/138550515017/the-13-houses-of-the-night-court-canons-and) of the Houses of the Night Court with all the mottos and canons. Some Houses are casted as various Spanish clubs, some are just mentioned and not really casted. 
> 
> The last thing you need to know is that David Silva is by no means a cinnamon roll in this fic. You have been warned.
> 
> Comments are appreciated! <3

Fernando runs down the hill, leaving the House behind him. He can see the outline of the City already. He knows that he isn’t supposed to leave the House without the Dowayne’s permission and that once the guards find him, he will get punished for it, but right now he doesn’t care.The words still resonate in his mind.

The words still resonate in his mind. _Not good enough… Compared to the others…_

He reaches the City’s periphery and heads straight to the market. If there is anyone in the world who can comfort him right now, it’s Sergio.

~ ~ ~

He finds Sergio near a stand where a woman sells fruit. She’s arguing with him over a few apples that are now missing.

“I did not steal anything!” Sergio says.

“I know you very well, boy, I’m pretty sure it was you!” the woman yells, pointing her finger at him. 

“Fine!” Sergio snaps. “If you can tell the whole City that I stole your apples, which is not true, by the way, I can tell the whole City who sent you a love message yesterday! It was…” 

The woman shushes him up and quickly gives him a few plums as well. Sergio grins and runs over to Fernando. “Hey!” he says and offers Fernando a plum. 

Fernando shakes his head. Sergio shrugs and slips the plums in his pocket. They head to their usual place, a small courtyard behind an inn where Sergio’s mother works.

Fernando notices that Sergio is watching him a bit hungrily. He reaches in his pocket for a few sweets. They’re always lying around the House after the parties, while at the market they’re so expensive that the lower class cannot afford them at all. 

Sergio’s eyes light up at the sight of his favorite ones and it makes Fernando smile, despite his bad mood. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Sergio asks, his mouth full.

“Nothing.”

Sergio snorts and pokes Fernando in the ribs. Fernando yelps and jumps up, which makes Sergio laugh. Sergio’s street-life manners aren’t always compatible with the velvet and silk Fernando is used to. “Come on, I can tell something’s wrong. You’re pouting again, like this.”

Fernando laughs at Sergio’s miserable attempt at his angry pout. Then he sighs. “I overheard the Dowayne, the head of the House, today,” he says.

“And?” Sergio asks, pulling an apple from one of the secret pockets he has everywhere in his clothes.

“Well, she was talking to one of our instructors. They were saying that I wasn’t…” Fernando has to take a deep breath. “That I wasn’t good enough for the Cereus House. You know, there are some rules… You have to look a certain way to be good enough, to become a courtesan. The instructor, and well, the Dowayne, they think I’m not pretty enough to serve the House.”

Sergio looks at him, his eyes wide. “What are they, blind?” he chuckles. “Look at yourself, you’re… beautiful!”

Fernando feels his cheeks grow hot, and he knows that he’s blushing. But it can’t cheer him up. “Well, not for the House. I have these…” he points to a few of his freckles. He doesn’t even speak of the strange red mote in one of his eyes because it kind of speaks for itself.

“Come on, they’re cute!” Sergio grins. “Anyways, maybe they could just kick you out then, and we could do something together!”

Fernando marvels at how pleased, almost ecstatic Sergio sounds. Being kicked out of the House is his worst nightmare. Not that he doesn’t envy Sergio his freedom, but there are certain things he doesn’t envy him at all. Not having a stable place to sleep, having to steal from time to time to get food… Fernando can’t even imagine that. He’s longing for freedom, but he wants to earn it. He wants to serve Naamah, have enough patrons to get his _marque_ and pay his debt to the House, and then become independent.

“The House never kicks anyone out just like that!” he says firmly, even though he isn’t entirely sure that it’s true. It’s never happened, as far as he can remember – which means it hasn’t happened during the last few years, nor has he ever heard of such case, but who knows?

“Well, then maybe one of the rich guys could buy your bond!” Sergio suggests. “I’ve heard of that. You’d pay your debt to them instead of the House.”

Fernando looks at him with some interest, but then he hangs his head in despair again. “They’d have to know that I exist!” he objects. “And so far, nobody in the City has heard about me.”

Sergio grins. “That could change easily,” he winks at Fernando. “You know who I am, right? I hear all sort of gossip, but I can also spread some. What if I tell a few people about a beautiful boy I’ve seen, and who the House is eager to get rid of?”

“Why should anyone be interested?” Fernando frowns.

“You don’t know them,” Sergio snorts. “Once they hear about something pretty, they’re scared that someone else might get it before them.” Sergio throws the last sweet in his mouth. “It’s actually quite ugly,” he says with an unusual thoughtfulness. “We’re talking about you like you are a thing.”

Fernando shrugs. He’s used to it. Since he was a kid, everyone has always looked at him like at a piece of art, like he was a thing. Beautiful and valuable, but a thing.

“I just have to make sure you stay near,” Sergio says like he actually could influence anything that happens. “I’ll try to keep the foreigners away. I don’t want them to take you overseas or somewhere far away. Nobody from Khebbel-im-Akkad stands a chance.”

Fernando quietly agrees with him. Sergio is his only friend. He can’t lose him. In the House, the atmosphere is too competitive, almost nobody has real friends there. He has to watch his back. He can’t be sure, but he’s got the feeling that Tiago has been watching him with some odd jealousy lately, and that’s never a good thing when someone feels threatened by another adept. “I know,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Sergio wraps his arms around Fernando protectively. “I wish I were rich,” he sighs. “I’d buy your bond and give you freedom and we’d be together forever. We could travel the world. Or because we’d be rich, we could-”

“Fernando!”

They both jump up when a guard in the uniform of the House appears like out of nowhere. Fernando sighs and turns to Sergio. “I have to go,” he says.

Sergio hugs him. “I’ll keep my promise,” he whispers. “It will be all right, you’ll see.”

Fernando only manages to nod before the guard grabs him by his shirt and pulls him up on the horse. 

~ ~ ~

Cereus House is one of the thirteen houses of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, the Night Court, as everyone calls it. It is also the oldest and most prestigious one. Although the whole Night Court has lost a lot of its prestige over the years, Cereus House has kept some of the privileges. It is the House that holds the Midwinter Masque every year and the Dowayne has a place in the City Judiciary. But although years ago the whole Night Court served only the royal family and the great houses, now they serve anyone who can afford to pay for the services of the Servants of Naamah, and Cereus House is no exception. The Dowayne often scoffs when someone rich but without noble blood comes to asks for an adept to please them. But she takes the money nevertheless. 

The Dowayne is an old woman with a stern face. She once had to be beautiful, but as they believe in Cereus House and as their motto goes - _All Loveliness Fades_. Now her face is crossed by deep wrinkles and her hands remind Fernando of birds of prey and their claws.

“Well,” she says when the guard leads Fernando across the courtyard. “Do you think that we have nothing else to do than to look for you in the City?” 

Fernando says nothing, knowing that it would only make the situation worse. He looks at Gabi, the Dowayne’s Second, who is usually nice to Fernando, but his face is as stern as hers.

“I think this time I shall make sure you learn a lesson,” she says and beckons the guard who drags Fernando to the pillory in the middle of the courtyard and ties his hands to it. Fernando gasps. He’s never seen it being used. “Gabriel,” the Dowayne turns to her Second then. “Call up all the adepts. I want them to watch.” 

Gabi bows to her and heads back inside the House. In the meanwhile, the guard rips the shirt on Fernando's back and exposes his skin to the warm air and the mist that comes from the fountains whenever the wind blows in the right direction. The other adepts start coming out of the house, all of them, even those younger than Fernando, which makes it all even more humiliating. 

Fernando fights with all his might. Fights until the first lash lands on his back. His skin bursts into flames and he screams, but at the same time it’s like his body comes alive. It’s like his body sings with every lash and although it hurts, he can feel strange pleasure spread inside of him. He wants it to stop and he wants it to go on forever...

“Stop!” the Dowayne’s voice cuts through the swishing of the scourge and Fernando's cries.

The sharp pain goes away, but the aftershocks are still spreading through his body like hot water and he writhes desperately when he realizes that the painful knot in the pit of his stomach is still there and the fading pain is not nearly enough to make it go away. He wishes the Dowayne had stopped the guard one lash later.

The woman walks up to him and takes him by the chin, inspecting his face, her gaze lingering on the red mark in Fernando's eye. “Well,” she says, and it doesn’t sound like she’s angry, rather curious. “We should let someone know about this. I think we are not the right House for someone like you.”

Fernando shivers. He’s heard enough about the Valerian House, the one where they value submission. It’s one of the two houses that use the _signale_ , the word that is meant to stop the patron, in the case of Valerian, or the Servant of Naamah, in the case of Mandrake House. One of the two that take pleasure in pain. They’ve always scared him and fascinated him at the same time. 

“Who would have thought,” the Dowayne smiles. “Maybe, after all, the House will make profit of you.”

 


	2. Two

Nothing changes in the way they treat Fernando in the House, seemingly. But he notices the small things. The way the Dowayne won’t even look at him anymore, the other adepts whispering behind his back. It’s like he’s already gone.

But since he’s been sold into Cereus House by his parents who had too many children and too little money, Fernando has learned one thing. Not to get attached. To places, to people, to anything.

He will go to Valerian, he will go to any of the thirteen houses if it means that he can serve Naamah, pay his debt and earn his  _marque_ , and then he can either stay in the House or leave and do whatever he wants to do.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It’s during a religion lesson that Gabi walks in, interrupting the priest instructing the adepts. Fernando knows the story anyway. How Naamah came to earth with the other Companions when the Blessed Elua was imprisoned in Persia, and she offered herself to the King of Persia in exchange for Elua’s freedom. Cereus House believes she did it knowing that Elua’s time on earth was fleeting and he needed freedom in order to live it to the fullest. Fernando understands that more than the priest thinks.

“Somebody wants to see you,” Gabi says and quickly checks if Fernando looks presentable enough. “Come with me.”

Fernando knows right away what this is about. He is not old enough to have patrons yet, he hasn’t had his debut. And if it’s not a patron, then it has to be someone who wants to buy his bond. Most likely the Dowayne of some other house.

“Who is it?” Fernando asks as Gabi leads him down the corridors. “Gabi! Please.”

“Who is Diego Simeone?” Gabi chuckles and slows down a little bit. “I wish I knew. Everyone wishes they knew. He used to be a favorite at the court, but then something happened and he’s not in the favors of the King now. That’s all I know.”

They come to a large hall where the Dowayne is sitting in her armchair, and next to her, a dark-haired man in fancy clothes. Fernando doesn’t dare to look at him for too long, instead, he sinks to his knees and waits.

“This is him?” he hears a pleasant, somehow bored voice. 

“Yes,” the Dowayne says. “We have no use for him here. At the first sight he might have the looks for our House, but he’s unfit for the service.”

“Unfit?” the male voice asks, but the surprise in his voice isn’t very genuine, Fernando can tell. “How come?”

“Come here, boy,” the Dowayne says and Fernando scrambles to his feet, approaching hesitantly.

Simeone looks him in the eyes, fixing the red mote in the right one.

“Are you from the Valerian House?” Fernando asks in a small voice.

Simeone chuckles. “Oh no, boy, I’m not. Is that what they told you? That the Valerian could handle you?”

Fernando just shrugs. He’s resigned himself to his fate already. If he’s meant to be a toy the patrons whip for their pleasure, then let it be it. Maybe it’s really where he belongs.

“I’ll tell you something,” Simeone says and touches Fernando's face with something resembling reverence. “No House could handle you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are special, Fernando. Have you ever wondered why you had this scarlet mote in your eye?”

Fernando shrugs again. It’s been in his eye since he can remember, and he’s never really looked at anyone long enough for people to notice it. Well, Sergio did notice it, but he only thought it was cute, same as Fernando's freckles.

“Kushiel, the angel, pricked you with his dart. Blessed you, or cursed you, it depends on how you look at it.”

“But what does it mean?” Fernando asks, looking at Simeone with wide eyes. All his life he was told he wasn’t good enough, and now someone is telling him that he’s special.

“Kushiel, as you know, was the angel who punished the guilty. His darts are rare, very rare. You are the first known person who was hit with it in over a hundred years,” Simeone explains. 

“Is it why... pain... feels good to me? I mean, not good, it hurts, but...” 

“Yes,” Simeone nods. “Kushiel’s chosen experience pain and pleasure as one.” He touches Fernando's hair and smiles. “It would be a pity if you were to become an ordinary Servant of Naamah. Your talents would go to waste in a house like Valerian. I can offer you more.”

“But... I will get my _marque_ , won’t I? I’ll pay my debt to you.”

“Yes,” Simeone nods. “It will be as if you had a debt to a house. But I don’t only intend to educate you in the arts of love.”

“What else, then?”

“Everything. Languages, history, politics... because, Fernando, you won’t only serve Naamah. You will also serve me. And I have big plans for you. If you want to come with me.”

“I do!” Fernando almost exclaims, realizing too late that he should have more respect to the Dowayne and more self-control if he wants to become a good Servant of Naamah.

Simeone turns to the Dowayne. “Name your price,” he says. “I’ll take him as my apprentice.”

The Dowayne smiles and rubs her hands together. “We’ll both profit from it,” she says. “Of that I’m sure.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Three days later, Simeone comes to take Fernando to his house. No matter how big his excitement is, Fernando still feels sad. He almost envies the other adepts that are allowed to stay. They are at least going to earn their  _marques_ somewhere they know it, they know what rules to follow. Fernando barely knows Simeone’s name, his plans are a mystery to him.

It’s the first time Fernando leaves the Night Court without the fear of being punished for it. Simeone has a carriage waiting for him and when Fernando climbs into it and sits down, he falls into soft cushions. It speaks of Simeone’s wealth, and it’s what matters to Fernando the most, despite being promised other things. Money means freedom.

When the carriage is passing the outskirts of the City, suddenly a familiar figure emerges from the shadows of the stands. Fernando’s eyes light up and Simeone makes the coachman stop.

“Hello, Sergio,” Simeone says, to Fernando’s surprise.

“Gave you a good advice, sir?” Sergio grins and waves at Fernando like nothing is happening.

Simeone laughs heartily. “Yes, very good!” he nods and hands Sergio a few coins. “Better than you think. I still think you two know each other really well. Isn’t that true?”

Sergio just smirks while Fernando lowers his head. But Simeone doesn’t seem to be angry at all. “Pretty little deal you made, boys!” he chuckles. “Well, I think, as the old Dowayne said, we’ll all profit from it.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Simeone’s house isn’t in the City itself. Although large enough, it’s rather secluded, unlike the houses of the nobles from the City who host parties all the time. When they reach the courtyard, Fernando steps out of the carriage and blinks in confusion. A blue-eyed boy is looking at him curiously.

Fernando turns to Simeone. “Who is this?”

Simeone smiles, and so does the boy. “This is Antoine,” Simeone says. “My other apprentice. You can think of him as of your foster brother, perhaps.”

Fernando scowls. He had hoped for... he doesn’t know what he had hoped for, but now he’s almost hurt. Maybe he had hoped that he finally wouldn’t have to share.

“Antoine, this is Fernando. Come and welcome him.” 

Before Fernando can blink, Antoine kisses him on both cheeks with such affection that Fernando would applaud him for the performance, if Antoine was a member of a House. But he is not, and the affection is most likely genuine.

Antoine grabs Fernando's hand and leads him inside the house, looking ecstatic and so innocent that Fernando can’t even hate him. They come to a cozy salon where a small table is set, full of fruit, sweets and freshly baked goods, as well as wine and jugs of cold water with mint leaves floating in it.

“This is for you!” Antoine tells him with a proud smile that suggests that he organized the small banquet himself, if he didn’t really prepare it with his own hands.

“Thank you,” Fernando says, looking around nervously.

Simeone plops down on the sofa and Antoine settles in one of the comfortable chairs.

“Well, sit down, will you?” Simeone smiles at Fernando. “You are not in your House anymore. The Dowayne won’t come to scold you.”

Fernando sits on the other side of the sofa and nibbles nervously at a piece of melon.

“So...” Simeone says. “As I said, you’ll get the education you would get in the Cereus House, and I’ll also want you to learn languages, history and politics. Because you, my dear, can get me something I cannot obtain myself.”

“What is it?” Fernando asks, ignoring Antoine’s knowing smile. He _hates_ his knowing smile.

“Information,” Simeone smiles. “As a simple Servant of Naamah, you wouldn’t get into the bedrooms that I will get you into. But your patrons, bathing in their own importance, will not think of you as a threat. And when they forget to be careful, you’ll get them to tell you things I need to know.”

“And what are those things you need to know?”

“Oh, there are many. Politics, royal affairs, anything really. But I can’t get close to those people. While you two...” he smiles at both Fernando and Antoine. “They will beg me to let them have you for a night.”

There is a hint of blush on Antoine’s cheeks while Fernando feels his cheeks burn bright red, but at the same time, he feels a strange excitement. “When will I start my lessons?” he asks.

“Tomorrow,” Simeone says and pours himself a cup of wine. “Now you have to help us eat this ridiculous amount of food that Antoine made the poor servants bring here.” 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando has never thought of himself as of someone exceptionally bright, mainly because he wasn’t supposed to be a scholar and in the Cereus House, they taught them only things they could use in their service. But he finds himself learning fairly quickly, at least some things. He’s quite good at languages. Not so much at history and politics which is Antoine’s specialty. And which is what Simeone actually appreciates the most, which in turn makes Fernando even more jealous of Antoine.

Fernando is exceptionally good at learning things related to Naamah’s arts. Theoretically, of course, because Simeone won’t allow him to have patrons yet. And while all the lessons they are given by Francesc Fàbregas, whom Simeone hired to teach them all on that subject, are interesting and exciting, it’s not enough.

Francesc Fàbregas is a former member of Camellia House, who married a rich noblewoman and after her death inherited all her money. Fernando figures that he and Simeone are old friends, and Francesc really dedicates himself to teaching the two boys. But although he recognizes Fernando's gift, he doesn’t really know what to do with it. Fernando is the first known person with it in over a hundred years, and Francesc didn’t serve in the Valerian nor Mandrake house. He still teaches him like Fernando belongs to Cereus, although they both know it’s not what he needs.

Sometimes Fernando can’t help but watch Antoine, wondering which house he would belong to if he were a fosterling in one. But he’s not, and he never were.

When he looks at him, he can picture Antoine in Cereus House; he has the pale, fragile beauty, and gentle manners. But he would fit in Alyssum House as well, with his modesty, and in Heliotrope, because he has the gift of making everyone feel unique and loved, and he would be just fine in Balm House, because his mere presence could heal even the most shattered soul, and he would fit in Orchis with his cheerfulness.

But there is one quality he possesses and Fernando doesn’t, and that is patience. Antoine is willing to wait for his debut. Fernando would have it tomorrow if he could. The calling of freedom is strong, but as he grows older, it’s not simply the longing to be his own master. It’s something more, something burning and unearthly.

His blessing - or curse - is coming alive.

 

 


	3. Three

Even after he moved to Simeone’s house, Fernando has never stopped visiting Sergio in the City. It’s more difficult now because he has less time and it’s a longer journey, but he would cross deserts and mountains to see Sergio just for a moment.

And although their relationship stays the same, now Fernando needs Sergio even more. Because Sergio is the only one he can complain to.

“I would probably have about a half of my _marque_ by now if I was in one of the houses,” Fernando whines while they are eating some apples Sergio got hold of the usual way. “And instead of that, I’m still reading books.”

“What is the _marque_ about, anyway?” Sergio asks. “I thought it was just a fancy tattoo on your back.”

Fernando sighs. Sergio is Tsingani and he only knows what he needs to know about the D’Angeline society. He knows how the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers works in general, but the subtleties and traditions are lost on him.

“It is said that Naamah scratched the backs of the patrons who pleased her, and the marks never faded,” Fernando explains. “Having it done means that you’ve served Naamah. You are not free until your _marque_ is complete, and it is only complete when it’s been seen and approved by the Dowayne.”

“So by Simeone, in your case,” Sergio makes a face.

“Yes,” Fernando says. “All the money I receive for my services will go to him, and all the rest, the gifts from the patrons, will pay my _marque_.” 

“Then shouldn’t he want you to start working as soon as possible?” Sergio frowns. “He’s losing money.”

“I think he doesn’t care about money,” Fernando sighs. “He has enough.” 

“And...” Sergio starts and there is a mischievous grin on his face. “As your first patron, who would you prefer? A girl or a guy?”

Fernando gulps. He’s never really thought about it. He knows that usually the Servants of Naamah serve both, regardless of personal preferences, but he doesn’t know what his personal preference is. He can’t really find out by reading books.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t even know if it matters. I mean, probably I’ll serve both and...”

“The hell it matters!” Sergio laughs. “You should at least know if you’re into girls or boys. I think it’s more useful than knowing six languages and the history of the whole world.”

“You should say that to Simeone,” Fernando scoffs. “Maybe he’d finally let me have my debut.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The Midwinter Masque has always been the highlight of the year. Fernando has never attended it, because he was too young to serve at the Masque when he was at Cereus House. And the Masque at the Cereus House is the most prestigious one, even more prestigious than the one at the Palace. All of the other houses come there, and usually at the celebration of the sun’s return, the Winter Queen is played by an adept of Cereus House.

When Simeone told him that both he and Antoine would go to the Masque with him, Fernando almost passed out from excitement.

“Are we here to look for patrons?” Fernando asks excitedly, looking around the big hall like he sees it for the first time in his life.

Simeone just smiles. “You haven’t had your debut yet. We are here so that you can see them and they can see you. But we’re not making any deals yet. It’s forbidden during the Longest Night anyway. We’ll let them wait.”

“Until when?”

Simeone doesn’t answer, maybe because he doesn’t want to, or he just doesn’t have enough time because in that very moment, the door opens and the first adepts start to pour in.

Alyssum House make an appearance first, passing through the ballroom almost unseen and unnoticed, as their canon, modesty, commands them. So does the Balm House, whose entrée is completely shadowed by that of the Bryony house.  _Wealth Seeks Company_ is their motto, and wealth is all that Fernando sees. Their golden robes shine like the sun and the jewels reflect the candlelight in such way that it almost blinds the attendants of the Masque. Zinedine Zidane, the Dowayne, walks in the front, golden chains wrapped around his neck and heavy rings adorning almost all of his fingers. 

Simeone snorts quietly at the sight.

Camellia House are next, and whatever they are wearing is secondary because it’s their faces that matter. They are indeed, as their motto premises,  _Without Fault or Flaw_ . Half of the Cereus House adepts would be imperfect for Camellia. Luis Enrique, the Dowayne, leads them with no less pride than Zidane led his House.

Fernando imagines himself still among the Cereus House adepts as they appear, dressed in white and silvery tones, evoking winter. The fragile, delicate, pale beauty and the appreciation for the fleeting nature of life left a hollow in his heart and it still aches. It could have been his debut, and instead, he’s here as a mere spectator.

When Dahlia House enter the room, it goes completely silent. Their robes are gold, same as those of the Bryony House, but there is something else that makes people feel inferior to them. The adepts are reserved and dignified, like they are Kings and Queens, not Servants of Naamah. Gary Neville, their Dowayne, is so haughty that he doesn’t even try to compete with the other houses. He acts like they don’t exist.

Fernando is so astounded by the Dahlia adepts that he completely misses the next two houses, coming to his senses only when Heliotrope House enter the ballroom, followed by the dusky-skinned, dark-haired adepts of Jasmine House, dressed as members of a harem, filling the atmosphere with their radiating sensuality.

But Fernando doesn’t pay attention to them because he knows who comes next. Mandrake House.

Among the gold, jewels and colors, they look solemn and intimidating in their black velvet coats. Their Dowayne, Ernesto Valverde, is paradoxically almost lost among the much taller adepts, but his face commands respect anyway. Fernando recalls their motto –  _Yield All_ . He would, for any of them.

He is still staring at them when the members of the Orchis House dance in, dressed as mermaids and other sea creatures, laughing and singing. Antoine laughs when a girl with long blonde hair throws confetti at him. But Fernando is waiting for the last House.

Valerian House adepts enter the room dressed in veils, with their eyes downcast like they are ready to meet their patrons there, but amidst their submission they seem to be proud in a way. Fernando tries to imagine himself among them, tries to understand whether he is indeed so different from them. Eusebio Sacristán, their Dowayne, is the only one to acknowledge the other Dowaynes, bowing slightly to the Dowayne of the Cereus House who hosts the Masque, and exchanging a few words with Valverde.

Then the ballroom goes silent once again, because the Winter Queen enters through the door. Dressed in rugs, hobbling with a cane and with a cape over her face, whoever is behind the mask, they are unrecognizable.

The lights go out and everyone looks to the door. It’s time for the Sun Prince to come and reveal the Winter Queen’s true beauty.

The Prince walks in and the lights come back. Then everyone gasps and Simeone laughs heartily. For this year, the Sun Prince is actually a Princess. A tall, blonde adept of Bryony House, dressed in clothes that are male just enough to keep the idea of the character of Sun Prince, but that still look feminine. She walks down the aisle of astonished guests until she reaches the Winter Queen. Then she taps the Winter Queen with her spear and the Queen lifts off her rags.

And it is no Queen.

A young man dressed in midnight blue with a white swan embroidered on his coat looks up and smiles at the Bryony adept.

Someone screams in the crowd, and then people start whispering frantically. Fernando looks at Simeone with confusion.

“Prince Álvaro of La Serenissima,” Simeone says quietly. “Prince of the Blood and cousin of Prince Iker, our heir to the throne. The branch of his family has been forgotten since they established themselves in La Serenissima. And I dare to say that this is a hell of a way to tell the world that they are still here.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

While Simeone talks to some old friends and Antoine lets himself be pulled on the dance floor by the adepts of the Orchis house, Fernando finds himself searching for the adepts of the Cereus House in the ballroom. Tiago is talking to another courtesan, Miguel is already mildly drunk and Gabi, the Dowayne’s Second, is overseeing the adepts like the responsibility for them is already all his. Probably because the old Dowayne is dozing off in a chair in the corner of the room.

Óliver and Saúl, inseparable as always, are entertaining a young noblewoman. They are like two flowers, Saúl the morning glory that blooms in the earliest hours, and Óliver the orchid that opens its chalice at night. Fernando remembers when the Jasmine House offered the Dowayne an insane amount of money for Óliver, as his somehow exotic beauty fitted their standards perfectly. Fernando also remembers how Óliver grabbed a dagger and aimed it at his own heart, threatening with killing himself if they sold his bond. The Dowayne refused the offer then, not out of compassion, but because if Óliver really killed himself, the House would only lose money. It was the first and last time Fernando saw someone blackmail the Dowayne into something.

When he stretches for his cup, Óliver’s shirt rolls up and Fernando sees the black ink lines on his back, the base of his  _marque_ , and he almost feels like crying when he realizes that those boys who are still almost children already know much more about the art of love than he does.

Then his eyes shift to the adepts of the Mandrake house, all still dressed in black velvet despite some of the other adepts having already lost most of their clothes. They seem more friendly with each other than the adepts from other houses, like the rivalry between them isn’t that strong.

One of the adepts, a tall and slender boy with dark hair, suddenly walks up to him. Fernando looks in his eyes and forgets to breathe. The boy’s eyes are hard and unyielding, but they promise pleasure, they promise lands Fernando could see if he submitted to him, they are fire and blood, they are the touch of a whip and the kiss of ice... The boy grabs Fernando's wrist and digs his thumb just in the right spot, and suddenly Fernando's vision is covered by a red veil and he sinks to his knees in front of him without even thinking about it...

Then the pain is gone and a burst of laughter shakes him out of the daze. The Mandrake House adepts are laughing heartily, and Fernando feels his cheeks burn with shame.

“What is going on in here?” a voice says and then Ernesto Valverde, the Dowayne of the Mandrake house, pushes his way through his adepts, raising his brows when he sees Fernando still on his knees.

“It’s the famous Simeone’s boy,” one of the adepts says somehow derisively. Fernando notices that he’s not even pretty. Not pretty enough for the Cereus House, at least. In the Mandrake House they probably have other measures. “Ander had him on his knees in _seconds_. With one touch.”

Fernando expects Valverde to scold his adepts, but he only smiles condescendingly. “Well, don’t think it will always be so easy, Iker,” he says like Fernando is a weak child that’s no match for them. “You still have a lot to learn. All of you.”

It’s like his words slide down the adepts’ clothes, they don’t even listen. When Valverde beckons Ander, the boys swamp around him like he’s just earned himself a whole new status.

Valverde looks at Fernando and offers him his hand. “Don’t be ashamed,” he says. “You’re not the first one Ander got to their knees, and certainly not the last.”

Fernando swallows the tears choking him. Valverde smiles. “You’re always welcome in the Mandrake House,” he says. “You could learn interesting things about yourself there.”

“Thank you,” Fernando says through gritted teeth. “But my teachers have taught me all there is to know.”

Valverde just raises his brows and leaves him alone. Fernando scurries away to the gardens of the house, hides behind a fountain and splashes the cold water in his face. He wishes he were far away from here, anywhere. He wishes he had a place he would belong in, where they wouldn’t look at him like he was a curiosity only meant to amuse people.

He doesn’t return to the ballroom for hours.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It’s almost day when they finally leave Cereus House. Antoine leans on the cushions in the carriage, exhausted and sleepy, but still with a smile on his lips. Fernando's mood is by far not so good.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Simeone says when Fernando stays silent for too long. “I should have envisaged it.”

Fernando just shakes his head desperately. He feels humiliated enough, Simeone mentioning it again and Antoine staring at him like he’s some kind of freak only makes it worse. “I spoke to their Dowayne,” he says then and looks at Simeone. “He invited me to their House. Said that I could learn interesting things about myself.”

“You probably could,” Simeone nods calmly. “Although I don’t think that you learned anything new about yourself, did you?”

Fernando blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I think you already knew that pleasure and pain come as one to you, and that you’d always be attracted to those who can give it to you.”

“Yes,” Fernando nods. “But that’s all I know. I mean, about...” He covers his face with his hands. “The boys that were with me in the Cereus House already have their _marques,_ and they’re so much younger... And all I know about love is from books, but I’ve never even seen...”

Antoine giggles, probably guessing what Fernando wanted to say. Simeone, however, doesn’t laugh at him.

“You may be right. I’ve probably kept you from it for too long. Both of you. If you want to learn more, then let it be it,” Simeone says. “But not in the Mandrake House.”

“Then where?”

“If you want to be good at what you do, you can’t settle for just one side of the things. You have to know everything. You have to settle only for perfect.”

“Perfection...” Fernando whispers. “Camellia House, then?”

Simeone nods. “Camellia.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tsingani (or Tsingano people) are travelers, horse-traders, some can see the future. They are inspired by the Roma people.
> 
> La Serenissima is a republic located in Caerdica Unitas (the real-life counterpart of which is Italy). It's inspired by Venice.


	4. Four

Camellia House is full of light, its halls are decorated with marble statues and paintings and everything is impeccably clean. There is a portrait of Naamah hanging on the wall, and she is the most beautiful woman Fernando has ever seen, her face so perfect that no human being could look like this.

They are greeted by the Dowayne’s Second, a woman called Shakira. Although she most likely doesn’t take assignations anymore, Fernando can imagine that even now the patrons would pay insane money for a night with her.

The room they are led in is rather small, dominated by a large bed. They sit on white cushions scattered around on the floor. Normally, there are more adepts watching the Showing, as these are open to any adept of the house, but this time, it’s only the two of them. Fernando doesn’t know if it makes him feel more at ease or quite the contrary.

The Couple walks in then, and Fernando loses track of time.

The girl is beautiful, her body is like a marble statue and her hair liquid silk as it spreads on the pillows. She is making delightful noises when the boy is pleasing her with his tongue, her back arching, fingers tangled in his hair. Then at one moment she turns her head slightly and locks her eyes with Fernando, and it‘s that very moment that he knows the answer to Sergio’s question. For he feels nothing when he looks at the girl. All he can think of, all he wants, all he sees, is the tanned skin of the boy between her legs, the curve of his back, every bump of his spine, every line of his _marque_ , and his hands, his fingers as he carefully works her open.

His eyes shift to Antoine, whose cheeks are flushed and his eyes fixed on the girl like nothing else exists in the world, and he wonders what he will do if there are no male patrons desiring him. Because right now he can’t imagine himself in the boy’s place.

Then the boy lies on his back and the girl straddles him. Fernando and Antoine both gasp in unison when she sinks down on his shaft. The boy’s green eyes could light the room alone and for a moment, Fernando thinks that maybe being in his place isn’t that bad.

He’s heard about pretending, he knows that many Servants of Naamah do it to please the patrons, but he would swear on Kushiel’s whip that these two aren’t pretending now. The connection between them is so strong that Fernando feels like if he could lay hands on their chests, he’d find their hearts beating in the same rhythm. The way the girl throws her head back, her hair falling almost to her waist in cascades, the sharp and yet somehow melodic moan she lets out, merged with the breathy, low purrs of the boy, it’s all too real, and it graduates, takes Fernando high up and when it’s over, he falls down with them, exhausted and out of breath, like he was a part of the act all along.

When Shakira comes to see them out, Fernando turns around for the last time and looks at the bed where the two adepts are resting, the girl smiling wearily and the boy caressing her hair gently. Fernando can’t help but wonder whether they are just friends or more, although he’s never heard of two adepts, leave alone adepts from the same House, loving each other.

Shakira leads them to an adjoint room where they are served a glass of liquor. Fernando's never needed it like he does now.

“Thank you for coming,” Shakira says in her melodic voice. “I hope the Showing answered your questions and fulfilled your expectations.”

Fernando doesn’t move, still too busy with all the thoughts that are clouding his mind. But Antoine nods ecstatically and it seems to be enough for Shakira.

“Then please give my regards to Diego Simeone,” she says. “We are pleased that he chose our House to initiate you into the mysteries of Naamah’s services, and we wish you both good luck.”

She turns around, her backless dress allowing them to see the blooming camellia on her skin, and disappears through the door.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“My lord,” Fernando asks after dinner, before Simeone can retire to the study room where he spends great portions of his nights, writing letters to people he never speaks about, and reading old books like he believes they contain some secrets nobody has discovered yet. “What does King Vincente think of Prince Álvaro being the Winter Queen?”

Simeone looks at him and smiles. “Did your teachers get at least a bit of political thinking into you?” he asks. “Well, I’m afraid that the King doesn’t have time for this child’s play right now.”

“Why not?”

“He has to deal with other things. Mainly with the Skaldi threatening our borders.”

Fernando frowns. “But haven’t the Skaldi threatened our borders for years?”

“Yes, they have,” Simeone nods. “But this time, it’s different. This time they have a leader who is able to unite the tribes, and who is smart enough to try conquering with more than weapons. A true strategist, and a ruthless warrior on top.”

“Who is it?” Fernando asks. He’s not interested in wars, but he is always interested in people. And an intelligent Skaldi warrior sounds too odd to be real.

“Well, nobody really knows,” Simeone says. “They call him just Robert. But those who met him and survived it say he is evil personified.”

“But...” Fernando takes a breath.

“That’s enough!” Simeone stops him. “Enough of the Skaldi. It’s getting late and your lesson with Francesc starts early tomorrow.”

Fernando wants to object, but there is something in Simeone’s eyes that stops him. He gets up and heads to the door, closing it behind him. Then he turns back and stops with his hand on the handle, peeking in through the gap. Simeone has his arm around Antoine’s shoulders and Antoine is hiding his face in Simeone’s shirt. It’s so intimate and yet natural that Fernando feels uneasy witnessing it.

He closes the door, more confused and jealous than ever.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Listen, Fernando,” Francesc Fàbregas says, tearing Fernando out of his thoughts. “I know all these things. I’ve done them a thousand times. I’m not saying this for myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Fernando mumbles, but he’s not really sorry. He’s furious because there is something going on and nobody is telling him.

“So what is bothering you now?” Francesc folds his arms. “Before you were annoying because you wanted to have your debut. You were promised that you would have it, but you are even more annoying now.”

Fernando is almost offended. It’s always him, the bad one. Always the one to be sent away like a little child, while Antoine apparently gets to know all the secrets.

“What is between Simeone and Antoine?” he asks, watching Francesc closely, so that he could tell if Francesc wanted to lie.

“What is between them?” Francesc frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Last night, Simeone was...” Fernando pauses, trying to understand what it was that happened. “We were talking about the Skaldi, and then suddenly Simeone sent me away. And when I was leaving, I saw him... hugging Antoine, or... I don’t know what it was.”

Something akin to understanding flashes in Francesc’s face. “You were talking about the Skaldi?”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point what we were talking about!”

Francesc just blinks. “Did you not know?”

“Know what?”

“About Antoine,” Francesc says. “How he came to Simeone.”

“No,” Fernando shakes his head. “No, they never talked about it.”

“Antoine was born on the borders, in one of the small villages there. Unfortunately, being so close to the borders with Skaldia comes with risks. People there defend our country from the attacks, but not every battle is won. Antoine lost his parents in one such battle, and it was Simeone who saved him from the ruins of that village.”

“Oh,” is the only thing Fernando manages to say.

“Well, I guess he is not comfortable with hearing stories about the Skaldi,” Francesc shrugs. “And I also think that the connection between him and Simeone is quite strong because of that, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

Fernando nods. He is fairly sure that it’s not all there is to the story, but it seems to be all that Francesc knows.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Fernando and Antoine return from their riding lesson, a servant stops them in the hall.

“Lord Simeone wants to speak with you,” he tells Fernando. “He’s waiting for you in the study room.”

Fernando hands the servant his coat and goes to the study room. He doesn’t know if he should be excited that Simeone wants to speak to him and not to Antoine, or rather worried. He knocks on the door and enters. Simeone is reading a book in the armchair by the fireplace.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Fernando asks.

Simeone nods, closes the book and motions for Fernando to sit down.

“You will have your debut soon, Fernando. But before you start accepting patrons, there is one more thing we have to ensure,” Simeone says and looks at him gravely. “Your safety.”

Fernando frowns. “My safety?”

“Yes,” Simeone says calmly. “You will be a very important person now, Fernando. More important than you think, and the more patrons you have, the more you know, the more important you will become. With knowledge comes power, and people fear those who know.”

“You mean that someone would want to... murder me?”

Simeone doesn’t answer, he just opens the door to the study and beckons someone waiting in the hallway. A young man walks in, armed with a sword and not one, but two daggers. His face is the strangest thing Fernando's ever seen, and it feels like he couldn’t memorize it even after looking at the man a thousand times. He almost overlooks the main thing. The grey clothes the man is wearing. The clothes only the members of the Cassiline Brotherhood wear.

“This is Daniel,” Simeone says. “He will be something like your personal guard.”

Fernando scoffs. “A monk?”

“Not really,” Simeone says. “His job is more about protecting others than praying to gods. But if being a monk equals the promise of chastity for you, then a monk he is.”

“A promise of chastity,” Fernando repeats derisively. “Why would anyone want to give one?”

“Why would anyone want to sell his body to strangers?” Daniel retorts in a sharp voice and Fernando almost jumps out of his skin.

“Now, now,” Simeone says loudly, but there is a hint of amusement in his voice. “You both are different. You each have your own beliefs. And you have to respect each other.”

“If you really think he will ever respect me, you are a fool,” Fernando says. “I don’t need a personal guard. I can take care of myself.”

Then he walks out of the study room and bangs the door behind him.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“A Cassiline?” Sergio laughs. “He really hired a Cassiline?”

“Yes!” Fernando growls, looking at his friend like he doesn’t understand how Sergio can laugh about it. “Can you imagine him waiting in front of the bedchamber while I’m pleasing my patron?”

“It’s kind of hilarious,” Sergio grins. “But I have to admit that I can see Simeone’s point.”

“What?” Fernando jumps up. “Humiliating me by hiring a monk who can’t even look at me without being disgusted by my whole person?”

“No,” Sergio says softly. “Protecting you.”

Fernando looks at him with surprise. “But why would anyone want to hurt me? I’m a nobody.”

“You?” Sergio laughs. “Look at me. _I_ am a nobody, and yet I know about a few people who wouldn’t cry if I were dead. Because I know things. Simeone is right. You’ll meet people, rich people, important people, and you’ll get to know their secrets. Not just how they look naked, silly. Secrets that could maybe cost them their heads. And they like their own heads more than yours.”

Somehow, although Sergio tells him nothing else than Simeone, this way it’s easier to accept.

“Still, I don’t need that monk!” Fernando says and crosses his arms. “If they’ll want to kill me, how could one man hold them back?”

“You’ve never seen a Cassiline fight, have you?” Sergio smiles enigmatically. “They train their martial arts or whatever it is since they’re ten. It’s all they know. A Cassiline can protect his ward from ten men, only with his daggers.”

Fernando scoffs. “If someone with power wants someone dead, dead they will be,” he says. “And maybe nobody would really miss me.”

“I would miss you!” Sergio says and touches Fernando’s face. “You are my sunshine. My days would be much darker without you.”

Fernando smiles weakly and leans on Sergio’s shoulder. Sergio’s shirt smells of sun and fruit, probably because he always hides some in his pockets.

“I wish I were free already,” he whispers.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando storms in the study room without knocking. Simeone is writing something at the table.

“I don’t want a personal guard!” Fernando announces.

“All right,” Simeone says, not even lifting his head from the parchment. “You don’t.”

His stoicism takes Fernando by surprise. “Are you angry with me?” he asks.

“No,” Simeone says calmly. “I’m not angry. It’s your choice.”

“So what happens now?” Fernando asks.

“Nothing,” Simeone smiles. “No personal guard, no assignations, no patrons. Inside this house, you are safe enough.”

Fernando gasps. “You can’t...”

“I can,” Simeone says. “I am ready to let you have your debut. Whenever you are ready. I am ready to accept the first offer. Whenever you are ready. With Daniel as your guard.”

Fernando almost wants to cry like a little angry child. “But he hates me!” he whines.

“He doesn’t,” Simeone says resolutely. “He’s ready to serve you and protect you. It’s his duty. And whatever he feels or thinks is secondary. But I genuinely don’t believe that he hates you. He doesn’t even know you.”

“He knows what I do and that’s enough,” Fernando mumbles. “But if he doesn’t say anything about it...”

“Do I have to remind you that you were the first one to mock him?” Simeone folds his arms. “Don’t say anything about his service to Cassiel, and he will say nothing about your service to Naamah. Can that be a deal?”

Fernando lowers his head, accepting that he can’t win this war against Simeone. “Yes,” he whispers. “It’s a deal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skaldia is a country that corresponds to the real world Germany, Poland, Austria, and the Czech Republic.
> 
> The Cassiline Brotherhood is an order of priest. Cassiline Brothers act as bodyguards to a sworn charge.


	5. Five

Fernando has trouble hiding his excitement when Simeone summons him and Antoine, as he suspects that it has to do with their debuts. He’s sort of glad Daniel is nowhere near. He would only think worse of Fernando if he saw him being excited of selling his body. There is much more to it, of course, but someone like Daniel will never understand that.

“So, I think you are both ready to have your debuts,” Simeone says when they sit on the sofa in the salon. 

Fernando feels the warmth spreading inside of him. Antoine looks nervous but tries hard not to let it show.

“I can’t show you both at the same time, though,” Simeone smiles. “Two suns blind too much.”

Antoine smiles while Fernando only blushes. Being treated as beautiful and special is something he’s never gotten used to, after all those years in Cereus House.

Simeone turns to Antoine. “For you, I have envisaged something more private. You are just the type to have a smaller circle of patrons, with personal recommendations.”

Fernando would agree to that. Antoine isn’t like the other Servants of Naamah, those from the Court who will serve anyone that can afford their services. Like this, they at least won’t have to worry about who the patron is. It surprises him a little bit that he too is concerned about Antoine. Although the jealousy is still there, after Francesc told him Antoine’s story, Fernando’s heart softened a little bit.

“While for Fernando, it has to be special. There are not so many patrons in the circles we usually frequent who would want your services, so we must make sure it reaches as many people as possible,” Simeone continues. “And I know of a perfect occasion.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

When the carriage stops in front of the Palace, Fernando still doesn’t know what to expect. Many high-ranking courtiers maintain rooms in the palace, so he can’t be sure who is organizing the feast nor who will be present.

But when they walk in the ballroom, he has to cover his mouth, otherwise, he’s sure he’d scream. At the podium, there is King Vicente sitting on the throne, and Prince Iker by his side, with his beautiful fiancée, Countess Sara of… damn, Fernando forgot that. He quietly hopes Simeone doesn’t ask him to put a name to every face in the room because forgetting the name of the future wife of the Prince, which means the name of the future Queen, would be really embarrassing.

“Why didn’t you tell me…” Fernando whispers to Simeone.

“Because your natural astonishment makes you even more beautiful,” Simeone smiles. “Let’s go.”

It seems like Simeone knows everyone while for Fernando it’s utterly confusing. But he soon understands that he’s meant to be seen, but only from a distance. Simeone doesn’t introduce him to anyone, he just shows and speaks about the people. King Vicente and Prince Iker, the heir to the throne. Prince Álvaro of La Serenissima – _so_ _why is he visiting, what do you think, Fernando?_ The counts, baronets, dukes... All potential patrons in Simeone’s eyes. Fernando doesn’t feel anything for any of them. He knows that he’s not supposed to, but he’s always thought that he’d choose his patrons for attraction, for lust, for enchantment. Not to find answers to questions that are not even his.

“My lord?” Fernando asks when Simeone lays his empty cup on one of the servants’ trays.

“Yes?”

“Who is that man in black, the one that’s talking to the Prince?”

Simeone glances over to the place where Prince Iker is sitting, and his eyes narrow. “Why are you asking about him in particular?” he asks, his voice slightly suspicious.

Fernando shrugs. “Just… he’s been looking at me from time to time. It makes me nervous.”

“Has he?” Simeone frowns. “Well, ignore it.”

“But who…” Fernando asks, but Simeone stops him with one movement of his hand.

“I will tell you about Marquis de Silva on our way back,” he says. “Not here.”

Fernando wants to object, but at that moment, a dark-haired man crosses their path. “Oh, Simeone!” he says, raising his glass. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Raúl,” Simeone nods and then turns to Fernando. “This is my apprentice, Fernando. Actually, I’m here mainly because of him. It’s his debut.”

“Really?” Raúl raises his brows. “So you’ve started to mingle in the Night Court’s business now that you’re no longer involved in the affairs of the royal court, eh?”

It’s probably meant to be a pun, but Simeone pretends that he didn’t hear it at all. “Fernando, this is Raúl González,” he says. “A member of the Royal Council.”

Fernando bows to the man who watches him with a smile. His face is not at all unpleasant, but there is something unsettling about him. Probably the power he holds.

“Is he a potential patron?” Fernando asks when Raúl rejoins José Mourinho, the Duke of a duchy somewhere on the borders. Fernando of course forgot its name.

“He might be,” Simeone nods. “And I’d be glad if he expressed his interest. He is very close to the court.”

“You used to be close to the court as well,” Fernando notes. “At least according to what this Raúl says.”

“Don’t believe everything people say,” Simeone dismisses him.

Fernando frowns. He remembers what Gabi told him about Simeone. When two stories told by people who don’t know each other match, there has to be at least a grain of truth in them. Fernando decides that he will ask Antoine as soon as the opportunity presents itself. He has the feeling that Antoine will know much more about Simeone than Fernando could ever hear elsewhere.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando looks at Simeone once they’re in the carriage. Simeone is looking out of the window, even though it’s dark outside, seemingly lost in thoughts.

“You promised to tell me about Marquis de Silva,” Fernando reminds him.

Simeone sighs deeply. “I was surprised he was even there,” he says. “His family isn’t really in the favor of the King... or I should rather say, the Queen.”

“Why?”

“They are a strange sort of people, I’d say. It’s better not to cross their way, Fernando.”

“But he seemed to get on well with Prince Iker,” Fernando objects.

“Yes, Prince Iker…” Simeone sighs. “Prince Iker wants to get on well with everyone. That’s his biggest weakness.”

“But what does the Queen have against Marquis de Silva?”

“It’s something from the past. There’s always something in the past when it comes to noblemen. And it usually doesn’t really matter,” Simeone smiles. “Forget about him. We have to find you a patron now, and that is our only concern now.”

Fernando nods and looks in the darkness behind the windows of the carriage. He would like to forget about the man, but something tells him that it won’t be that easy.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando finds Sergio at the inn where his mother works. He usually hangs around the taverns where he has good chance of coming across one of his little jobs – delivering secret love messages, future telling (he refuses to tell Fernando his future, though – like Fernando believes he can actually do it) or placing bets at whatever interesting is about to happen in the City.

When they come out of the noisy taproom and sit in the backyard, Fernando pulls out a few coins and hands them to Sergio.

“I don’t need your money!” Sergio snaps.

“It’s not alimony!” Fernando says. “It’s… well, I need some information.”

Sergio grins and slips the coins into his pocket. “Then it’s fine!” he says. “What do you need to know?”

“Sergio…” Fernando says and looks at his friend. “What do you know about Marquis de Silva?” 

Sergio looks at him and frowns. “Don’t even think of selling yourself to him!” he growls.

“I’m not,” Fernando assures him. “He wouldn’t want me anyway. He probably doesn’t even care about my existence.”

“Fine,” Sergio mutters. “Because the Silvas are a strange cast.”

“Why?”

“Well, people say that they’re hiding the lost prince.”

Fernando’s eyes go wide. “The lost prince?”

“Of course. The one that was born after Iker. And they want to get rid of Iker, and they’re not afraid of anything to achieve that. The sister of Marquis de Silva is the lady-in-waiting of Prince Iker’s fiancée. You know how she got the position?”

Fernando shakes his head.

Sergio grins. “The former lady-in-waiting drowned in the lake when she fell off a boat. Guess who was in the boat with her?”

“The current lady-in-waiting.”

Sergio nods. “And her brother.”

Fernando just gulps. He kind of understands why Simeone didn’t tell him this, but then, he’s also a bit mad at him.

“Besides that, they live in Kusheth,” Sergio mumbles. “And all people from Kusheth have some deal with that angel of yours. The one that pricked you with his dart. Or so they say.”

Fernando sucks in a breath. Now he knows why he and Marquis de Silva are like two magnets.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The geography lessons are usually exciting for Fernando, who likes learning new things just for the sake of learning, but this time, the teacher’s lecture about Skaldia goes in one ear and out of the other for him.

“Could you tell me about Kusheth?” Fernando asks suddenly.

The teacher looks up and blinks in confusion. “Kusheth?” he asks. “We are talking about Skaldia now.”

“But Kusheth is closer,” Fernando says. “I have more chances of going there than to Skaldia.”

“Well,” the teacher clears his throat and finds a map of Terre D’Ange. “Kusheth. Here. It is a peninsula, on three sides there is the sea. The coastline is harsh and rocky, but the interior is lush and green.”

“Who rules it?” 

“House Silva,” the teacher says curtly. 

“Is it true that Kusheth was founded by Kushiel himself?”

The teacher looks even more nervous now. He tries to pretend that he doesn’t stare at the red mote in Fernando's eye, but fails miserably. “Well, it is,” he says then. “There is a temple of Kushiel on an island off the shore. And the Silvas are said to be the direct descendants of Kushiel.”

“Direct descendants?” Fernando blinks. “You mean that they... But Kushiel lived thousands and thousands years ago!”

“That’s what they say in Kusheth,” the teacher shrugs. “And now we shall get back to Skaldia.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Simeone comes home, Fernando is just returning some books on the shelf in his study room.

“The teacher told me that you were very interested in Kusheth,” Simeone notes and sits in his favorite armchair. “Why is that?”

Fernando just stares back at him. “You know why.”

“Yes, I know. And your infatuation with Marquis de Silva worries me.”

Fernando crosses his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about the lost prince?”

Simeone looks at him. “Who…” he starts, then chuckles and leans back. “Of course. Your friend Sergio.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s just a legend, Fernando,” Simeone smiles. “What exactly did Sergio tell you?”

“Not much. He just said that the Silvas were… strange, and that there are people who believe that they’re hiding the lost prince who would get the throne if Iker died.”

Simeone nods thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s what they say. You really want to know the story?”

Fernando nods and sits on the pelt close to the fireplace. Simeone pours himself a glass of wine and makes himself comfortable in the huge armchair. “Well, it is said that after Prince Iker was born, the King had another son with a woman he truly loved. She wasn’t of noble blood and they had to keep their relationship secret. It is said that the Queen found out about the boy and she was afraid that one day, that boy could claim the throne instead of Iker – because as you know, it doesn’t matter who the mother is, as long as the King accepts the child as his. It is said that she kept dreaming strange dreams about the other boy, and so she went to the Gentian House where an adept interpreted them for her. What he said is a mystery, but she then took the boy from the mother, had the woman murdered, and then she sent her people to get rid of the boy somewhere in the wild.”

Simeone pauses and drinks a bit of wine.

“Then what happened?” Fernando urges him on.

“They never returned,” Simeone says quietly.

“But how…”

“They found them dead. The boy wasn’t there. Nobody ever saw him again.” Simeone gets up from the chair and goes to the window as though the figures from his story are supposed to appear there. “The legend says that the Silvas killed the Queen’s men and took the boy in. That they want to get closer to the throne that way.”

“But Marquis de Silva seems to be friends with Prince Iker!” Fernando objects.

Simeone smiles and shrugs. “As I said, it’s just a legend, Fernando,” he says quietly. “There is no other prince. They suspect the Silvas just because they live quite far away, their castle is a cold and rather scary place as the whole Kusheth is, and nobody really knows them. People like that provoke legends.”

“And is it true that Marquis de Silva and his sister killed Countess Sara’s lady-in-waiting?”

Simeone opens his mouth. “That’s a conspiracy theory, Fernando!” he says sharply. “It was an accident.”

“She fell off the boat, and they were both there with her.”

“She didn’t fall off,” Simeone corrects him. “The boat turned over. They all almost drowned, all three. Marquis de Silva saved his sister, but he couldn’t save both. The other girl stayed under the boat and her dress pulled her down. It was an accident, nothing more.”

“Whose side are you on, my lord?” Fernando asks. 

Simeone raises his eyebrows. “Whose side?”

“On one hand you’re loyal to Prince Iker, but then you defend the Silvas.”

“I don’t defend them, I just don’t like stupid rumors, that’s all!” Simeone retorts. “And now, we should talk about more important things. Like the ball in the Palace.”

“Another one?” Fernando looks at him. 

Simeone nods. “Another one. The last one started the whisperings about you, but now I believe they will find the courage to make you offers,” he smiles. “And that’s what we want.”

 

 


	6. Six

Fernando has it all planned perfectly. It would be a miracle if Simeone didn’t get at least a bit of the plotting sense into him, and it feels even better when he gets to involve Simeone in his plotting.

He waits for Simeone to leave the house, probably to arrange something for the upcoming ball. And he waits for Antoine to be alone in the study room. Then he joins him, pretending that he too has to look something up in the books.

“Why is Simeone no longer close to the court?” he asks casually while they are both looking over the shelves.

“Why would I know?” Antoine smiles.

“Because you always know. Because you’re much closer to him than I will ever be.”

The smile freezes on Antoine’s lips. “I don’t think...”

“Francesc told me,” Fernando interrupts him. “About your family, how you came to Simeone...”

Antoine looks at him, the liquid blue of his eyes almost drowning Fernando. “You don’t understand,” he whispers. “You can’t understand.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Fernando shrugs. “I lost my parents as well. Only that nobody saved me like Simeone saved you.”

“He _did_ save you,” Antoine objects.

Fernando knows that he’s right, but he’s not ready to give Simeone all credit. Before him, Sergio saved him, by telling Simeone about him. And most of all, Fernando saved himself. If he didn’t befriend Sergio and didn’t eavesdrop behind the Dowayne’s door and didn’t tell Sergio about it, he would now be a whipping toy in Valerian House.

“Yes, maybe,” Fernando admits just to appease Antoine. “But I don’t owe him my life.”

“Me neither,” Antoine says and suddenly he is bolder than Fernando's ever seen him. “I owe him my bond and that’s it. And I can’t wait for it to be paid.”

Fernando just blinks. “I... I thought that... I thought that you wanted to do this for him,” he says.

Antoine looks like there is an entire battle going on inside of him. “I will please my patrons if it makes him happy,” he says then. “But it’s not what I want to do with my life.”

“That I understand,” Fernando nods. “More than you think.” He puts the book back without even opening it, and heads to the door.

“It has to do with La Serenissima,” Antoine calls.

Fernando turns back. “What?”

“Your question. You wanted to know why Simeone was no longer in the favors of the court. It has to do with his support for the branch of the royal family that reigns in La Serenissima. King Vicente surely wouldn’t keep close someone who would hand the throne to someone else than Iker, gladly.”

“He would want Álvaro to reign?” Fernando looks at him in shock.

Antoine just shrugs. “What I know is what happened in the past. I don’t know about his views on it now. Álvaro was merely a boy back then. He could have changed himself, not just Simeone’s views on him.”

“True,” Fernando nods. “Because Simeone was surprised when Prince Álvaro appeared at the Midwinter Masque, remember?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he didn’t know he would be here, and he’s asked me why I thought he was visiting,” Fernando says, all pieces now falling in the right places now. “Antoine, I think I know what he wants from us.”

Antoine comes closer to him and maybe for the first time, Fernando feels like he has an accomplice in him, a friend, if not brother like Simeone wanted them to be. “You mean... what he wants us to find out?” he asks quietly like he’s afraid Simeone will hear them wherever he is.

“Yes,” Fernando nods. “I think he wants us to find out who’s invited Prince Álvaro here. Who else wants him to claim the throne.”

“But what if it’s not the reason why he is here?” Antoine asks. “He is our Prince’s cousin after all. He could be just visiting for no reason.”

“Even if he originally was,” Fernando shakes his head. “Then there is the question who made him the Winter Queen. Because I don’t believe that it was his own idea.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The ball is almost as exquisite as the Midwinter Masque. Fernando doesn’t know why the nobility prefers the masquerade balls, but he understands why Simeone chose this one. The guests feel more at ease when nobody knows who they are, and they are more likely to make an offer that way. Not that contracting a Servant of Naamah would be shameful, but Fernando thinks that the important people prefer anonymity in certain aspects.

Soon after their arrival, Fernando's heard some guests whispering that Prince Álvaro was among the guests, and although it might be simply a rumor some servant made up, he finds himself looking for him among the masks. He didn’t really care about him before, but now that he knows about Simeone’s views on the future king, he is strangely intrigued. The prospect of meeting his first patron, though, still beats that curiosity.

“So it’s you, the famous one,” a voice says behind his back. 

Fernando turns around and looks at the man. There is a mask on his face and it’s the most beautiful thing Fernando’s ever seen. It’s black and shiny, and the gold around the eyes makes the dark eyes of its owner stand out.

“My lord,” Fernando bows.

“Has anyone made you an offer already?” the man asks in a lazy voice. His laid back attitude makes Fernando feel more at ease, but at the same time, he feels his body come alive.

“No, my lord,” he almost whispers.

“I would make you an offer nobody else could make.”

“Are you sure about that?” Fernando smiles. It’s a masquerade ball, so the fact that he doesn’t know who he’s talking to excuses him even when he’s being disrespectful.

The man cocks his head. “Let’s say it could pay half of your bond. That’s not a bad start, is it?”

Fernando gasps. Half of his bond, and maybe a part of his  _marque_ . Then he’d need… how many? Ten more? And then he’d be free, and they could finally go chasing their dreams with Sergio. “You’d really pay that much?” he breathes. “For me?”

“Why does it surprise you so much?” the man smiles behind his mask, reaching up to touch Fernando’s neck. It makes Fernando shiver.

“There are more beautiful courtesans. I was even rejected by my House.”

The man shakes his head. “You are beautiful. And smart. Natural. And very innocent, compared to them. But most of all, you are special.”

Fernando lowers his eyes. The man keeps watching him, then tilts his head a bit impatiently. “So… will you let me make you an offer tomorrow?” he asks.

Fernando reaches for the flower pinned to his shirt and hands it to the man. “You’ll have the precedence over all other offers,” he says.

“Thank you,” the man smiles and takes the flower. “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

Before Fernando can blink, he is gone like he was never there. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I received three offers for you before we even left the ball,” Simeone smiles when Fernando comes in the salon in the morning. “And another two this morning.”

“Is there anyone important?” Fernando asks curiously. 

“Raúl González is one of them,” Simeone says.

Fernando hums noncommittally. Raúl may be important for Simeone for some reason, but he doesn’t make Fernando feel anything.

“You look like you were expecting at least the Prince to make an offer for you,” Antoine laughs while Simeone goes back to the offers.

“Was he there?” Fernando asks.

“Who?” Simeone looks at him. 

“Prince Álvaro. People were whispering that he was.”

Simeone smiles. “I thought I had taught you to see under people’s masks.”

“I was rather blind last night,” Fernando admits. “I was more interested in under which mask my first patron was than which mask Prince Álvaro was hiding under.”

“The silver fox,” Antoine smiles. “The silver fox was Prince Álvaro.”

“Very well,” Simeone smiles. 

Fernando doesn’t even mind him praising Antoine. He has his plan now. He will be the one who will give Simeone the answers he wants. That will be his win. Not the silly competition in knowing more about this or that.

“If you want Raúl González as my patron...” he starts.

“The choice is yours,” Simeone says. “It will always be yours. I won’t force you.”

Fernando nods and reaches for the other parchments. At that moment, a woman in a white apron, Simeone’s housekeeper, runs in, looking so distraught that they don’t even have to ask why she didn’t knock.

“You have a visit, my lord,” the housekeeper whispers. 

Simeone frowns. “Who?”

“Me,” a voice says and then Marquis de Silva walks in, dressed in a black and gold brocade coat. “I apologize for coming unannounced.” 

Simeone narrows his eyes. He reminds Fernando of a guardian dog who hears an intruder and bristles up. “What are you doing here?”

Marquis de Silva reaches for something underneath his coat and then pulls out the flower Fernando had on his shirt the previous night. “I came to make my offer,” he says and Fernando recognizes the eyes that were looking at him from behind the mask the night before. “Fernando said that I could.”

 


	7. Seven

The moment Marquis de Silva is gone, Simeone looks at Fernando. He’s partly angry and partly worried. “Why did you do it, Fernando?” he asks quietly.

Fernando bows his head. “I didn’t know it was him.”

It’s almost a lie. He  _sensed_ that it was him.

“You could still refuse. You have other offers, and it’s your right to...”

“It’s half of my bond!” Fernando objects. “For one night!”

“Well, then…” Simeone says, and Fernando would swear that now there’s hurt in his eyes. “I hope you won’t regret it.”

Fernando hopes so, too. But suddenly he is scared. Scared of not knowing enough, worried that he will disappoint. Because nothing that Francesc has taught him could have prepared him for someone who has Kushiel’s blood in their veins, if the legends are true.

And there is only one place he can go now.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Mandrake House is far from the lush, comfortable palaces that Cereus and Camellia are. The walls are cold stone, the floors aren’t covered by carpets and there are no decorations whatsoever. Like in all houses, there is a portrait of Naamah, but it’s unlike all portraits of her that Fernando's ever seen. This Naamah isn’t the modest one he once saw in the Alyssum House, nor the Naamah dressed in gold and adorned by jewels as the Bryony House portraits her, nor is she the ethereally beautiful woman Fernando used to see every day at the Cereus House. This Naamah has a stern face, and she is beautiful, but it’s the kind of beauty that provokes fear.

“Naamah chose her patrons like victims,” someone says behind his back.

Fernando turns around and freezes. There is Ander standing behind him, looking no less menacing without the black velvet coat and his suite of other adepts. The moment their eyes meet, it all comes back. Stone and flames, the promise of immense pleasure slowly engulfing him like lava, and that something that makes him want to drown in those eyes.

“She whipped them to violent pleasures,” Ander continues, his voice low and almost soothing, with only a hint of the authority that makes the hair on the back of Fernando's neck stand up. “And when it was over, they were half-dead, but sated and happy like never before.”

Somehow, Fernando is sure that so are the patrons when Ander is done with them.

“That is what we believe in,” Ernesto Valverde’s voice says, breaking the spell just in time before Fernando's knees go weak. “But I think our friend didn’t come for a lesson on our beliefs.”

Ander just smiles knowingly, perfectly aware of how much Fernando enjoyed the little lesson, and then he bows to Valverde and turns to leave. When he turns his back to them, Fernando notices the black lines of his  _marque_ creeping up his neck. It must be almost complete. In that moment, Fernando hates him more than before. Hates him as much as he can hate him with all the desire he feels.

“Kusheline blood,” Valverde smiles when he notices Fernando’s lingering gaze. “That’s why you’re drawn to him.” 

_And to certain other people,_ Fernando thinks bitterly.

Valverde sits in his chair and rests his arms on the armrests. Fernando notices that unlike other Dowaynes, he’s not wearing any rings nor other adornments.

“What my adepts know is what I taught them, like in all houses,” he says. “But Ander always knew things instinctively. The sadistic streak runs in his blood. The sharper pleasures come naturally to him. You’d have this advantage if you were in Valerian.”

“The difference is that everyone in Kusheth is born with his streak, but not everyone is born with mine,” Fernando retorts.

Valverde chuckles. “You are right. You are unique. But it might not be an advantage.”

“Why?”

“Not everyone will know how to appreciate it. They will still perceive you as a Servant of Naamah, no more special than those from the Valerian House. Only the Kushelines know who you truly are. So you may have made a wise choice. Or not.”

“What do you mean?”

Valverde smiles condescendingly. “Everyone knows who’s promised to pay half of your bond. Isn’t that why you are here?”

“Yes,” Fernando says and looks at Valverde. “You said I could learn a lot here.”

“Didn’t your teachers tell you all there is to know?” Valverde asks in a mocking tone of voice.

Fernando lowers his head. “I think my lord Simeone never envisaged that I would pick a Kusheline first,” he says. “He had me educated in the general art of love, but...”

“But he had thought you’d choose someone ordinary, like his other boy did,” Valverde nods.

Out of those who expressed interest, Antoine chose a young Namarrese noblewoman, very beautiful and joyful, like the lands and vineyards of Namarre itself. He returned in the morning with a dreamy smile on his face and his eyes were clouded and unfocused for days. He was so infatuated with her that he even refused to take the money she offered him as a gift, and thus delayed the creation of his  _marque_ . Fernando couldn’t believe his ears when he told him.

Valverde rings a bell hanging next to his chair and in the next moment, a dark-haired man emerges from behind the curtains.

“My Second, Aritz,” Valverde says. “He’ll show you around and answer all your questions. Unless you’d rather have Ander do it.”

Fernando pales, but Valverde laughs heartily then. “I was joking,” he says. “I wouldn’t leave you two alone in a million years.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Aritz leads him through the long corridors in silence. Unless Fernando asks questions, he doesn’t speak. His presence is not as unsettling as Ander’s, but Fernando still knows that this man could make him feel enough pain to drown in, and he knows that he would love it.

“And what is in there?” Fernando asks when they are passing a somehow bigger and more decorated door.

“Personal chambers. For the lords of Kusheth,” Aritz says. “We also have an altar to Kushiel, so they sometimes like to spend time here. They have the same in the Valerian House.”

“Your houses seem to be very close.”

“We have an agreement. Sometimes we go to Valerian, or they come here.”

“Why?”

“Some patrons prefer only to watch,” Aritz smiles and Fernando feels his cheeks burn. “And we hold Showings for the Valerian adepts. Which makes me think... Why did you come here? You would maybe learn more useful things in Valerian.”

“But I know what to expect from myself,” Fernando says, ignoring Aritz’s knowing smile. “I need to know what to expect from my patrons.”

“You’ll need to think of a _signale_ ,” Aritz notes. “It will be a part of the contract between you and the patron.”

“What if the patron doesn’t respect it?” Fernando asks in a shaking voice.

“Every patron has to respect it,” Aritz says firmly. “Marquis de Silva is no exception. Actually, he’s the last one that wouldn’t respect your _signale_.”

“Why?”

“A descendant of Kushiel wouldn’t hurt Kushiel’s chosen.”

Fernando's lips shiver. So what the old teacher told him was true. Before, the unearthly origin of House Silva sounded like a legend to him, but in the Mandrake House, they know everything about Kushiel. And Aritz doesn’t look like someone who would believe mere legends.

They enter one chamber and Fernando looks around. There are all the tools Francesc had told him about, and some he probably didn’t even know that existed. Aritz explains everything to him in a voice so neutral that Fernando wouldn’t blush even if he were a young adept.

Fernando opens one drawer and looks in fascination at the line of silver knives on a velvet cushion. They look like something that a surgeon would use, but Fernando's got the feeling they are not intended for that. “What are these?” he asks.

“ _Flechettes_ ,” Aritz says in a calm voice that sounds almost absurd when Fernando looks at the knives. “They are the sharpest knives. They are so fine that you won’t even feel it at first when they cut through your skin. They are not meant to wound or cut deep. They are meant to cause pain.”

“The patrons can use these on me?” Fernando asks, willing his voice not to shake.

“Not unless you allow them to,” Aritz smiles. “That’s what the contracts are for. But for someone like you, I would recommend it. In the hands of someone who knows how to use them, they are the keys to the gates of paradise.”

“Would Marquis de Silva know how to use them?”

“Definitely,” Aritz smiles. “Definitely.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando stops at the City’s outskirts on his way from Mandrake House. The moment he walks in the inn, Sergio jumps up from a table and runs to him. “Say it’s not true!” he demands.

Fernando tries to act like he doesn’t know what Sergio means, but it’s clear that Sergio’s spies did their work well again.

“You can’t sell yourself to that man!” Sergio hisses and drags Fernando to the backyard. “You don’t even know him!”

“But Sergio, I know none of my future patrons, and I never will,” Fernando objects.

Sergio balls his fists like he would punch all the future patrons in the face if he could. “But you know where he comes from and what he’s capable of, and you still chose him!” he barks.

“He promised to pay half of my bond,” Fernando says. “And he will most likely give me a big gift. I could have my freedom earlier! We could take off earlier! If you still want to.”

Sergio’s face softens again. “Of course I want to,” he whispers. “I’m just worried.”

“Remember I will have that monk with me,” Fernando makes a face. “You said he could fight off ten men, so what’s one Kusheline nobleman to him?”

“Don’t let him do anything to you that you don’t want to, all right?” Sergio says.

“Why should I?” Fernando frowns.

“Because sometimes you do that, and you don’t even realize it,” Sergio says. “You mustn’t suffer to please others. It’s not how it works, not even in the Night Court.”

“So suddenly you’re a Night Court expert?” Fernando laughs, but it comes out bitter. He has to admit that in some things, Sergio is painfully right.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When Marquis de Silva comes to sign the contract, Fernando tries to act like he is not interested in anything more than the money, but he suspects that his future patron can read him better than Fernando can read himself. Simeone acts like he wants Marquis de Silva as far from his house as possible, which means that he isn’t actually pretending at all. It’s like there is a war going on between them all, and Fernando can’t say what they are actually fighting for.

“I don’t need to mention that I want this to be done correctly,” Simeone says and looks at Marquis de Silva. “And I want the contract to be kept.”

“Do you remember me ever breaching a contract, Diego?” Marquis de Silva smiles.

“You will be surprised, David, but I do,” Simeone says and Fernando doesn’t know whether to be more curious about the fact that they are on first-name terms, or the thing Simeone is talking about.

David – Fernando can’t help but the name somehow doesn’t suit him – smiles calmly. “I was young then,” he says. “And I paid for it.”

Fernando almost,  _almost_ asks what they are talking about. It’s the manners they’ve instilled in him in Cereus House that tells him not to. 

Simeone doesn’t pressure the matter either, and David turns his attention to the scribe he’s brought with him to write the contract. “Have you thought of a  _signale_ , Fernando?” he asks.

Fernando hasn’t. But the  _signale_ means safety. When he thinks of safety, he thinks of Sergio. And when he thinks of Sergio... 

“Sunshine.”

David’s lips twitch, but he says nothing, letting the scribe continue. “You went to Mandrake House,” he states.

“Who told you?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter who told me,” David smiles. “I’d find out anyway. My family has close contacts with both Mandrake and Valerian.”

“I thought I should know what I’m getting into,” Fernando says.

“You were supposed to say ‘ _I thought I should know how I can please you, my lord_ ’, but thank you for your honesty,” David chuckles and reaches for the contract. “We’ve made it easier for you as this is your first time. There are all the things I could want from you. Feel free to cross off anything you wouldn’t be comfortable with.”

“Anything?” Fernando raises his brows.

“Of course,” David nods. “But do it now. After that only your _signale_ will stop me from doing them to you.”

Fernando takes the parchment and the quill from him, willing his hands not to shake. He looks over the list briefly, and thanks Aritz for his lecture in his mind. His eyes fall on the word  _flechettes_ . He crosses it off resolutely.

When he hands the contract back to David, David smiles like he didn’t expect anything else.

“Anything you don’t agree with?” Simeone asks.

“No,” David smiles and takes the quill. “It’s Fernando's first assignment, it’s only fair I let him have it his way.”

“I’m quite sure I’ve left you enough space to have things your way, my lord,” Fernando says.

“We will see,” David says. “We will see.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The preparations for Fernando's first assignment are bigger than he’d expected. Simeone commissions a new set of clothes made for him, has a carriage ready for him, and of course, has a long discussion with Daniel to which Fernando is not allowed to be present.

“He almost acts like he doesn’t want me to pay my bond,” Fernando scoffs when Simeone closes the door of the study room behind him.

“You don’t really think that he needs the money, do you?” Antoine smiles. “Or that he will keep it.”

“Then what is he going to do with it?”

“Save it for us, of course,” Antoine shrugs. “Once that we have our _marques_. He wouldn’t let us go away with nothing.”

Fernando just stares at him. The Houses would never do such thing, they would never give money to the adepts once they had their  _marque_ complete. It was a way to keep at least some of them, to have them serve the House even after they had their freedom.

“If we want to go away, of course,” Antoine sighs. 

“And you don’t?” Fernando raises his brows.

Antoine looks at him. “I have nowhere to go. I mean... sure, I could find a place to stay, but what for? Only to be lonely?”

“But you told me that you couldn’t wait for your _marque_ to be complete, for your freedom!”

“Yes,” Antoine says. “But not because I want to leave. It’s...”

The door of the study room opens and Daniel walks out. He looks at Fernando and Antoine and Fernando can tell how much effort he puts into keeping his face neutral.

“I’ll accompany you tomorrow night,” Daniel tells Fernando. “I will wait for you until you’re...”

“Done pleasing my patron,” Fernando helps him with a satisfied smirk.

“And I’ll escort you back home,” Daniel finishes, a faint pink blush creeping up his defined cheekbones. 

“I cannot wait,” Fernando makes a face. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Daniel nods curtly and walks out of the room. 

Fernando plops back on the sofa and sighs. “I don’t know what will be worse,” he says. “Dealing with Marquis de Silva, or dealing with this stupid monk.”

 


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly smut... well, I got a bit carried away.
> 
> Comments are appreciated <3

The evening comes too soon.

Fernando feels like he is going to a battle. The new clothes feel heavy like an armor, and he checks his appearance in the mirror several times. Simeone looks worried like a mother letting her son out of her sight for the first time, and when Fernando sees Daniel waiting at the carriage, fully armed, he wonders if he indeed didn’t make a mistake.

The carriage passes the gates of the City, its wheels making loud noise on the paved roads. Fernando looks at Daniel, who is staring out of the window. Whether he is looking for possible threats in the darkness or just doesn’t want to look at Fernando, Fernando can’t tell.

“You think that what I do is disgusting,” Fernando states in a low voice. Somehow he feels like if they admit what they feel for each other, it will be better than the heavy, silent animosity.

Daniel turns his head to him, his face emotionless. “It’s your life. Your choice.”

“You think that I chose it?” Fernando barks. “My parents sold me to Cereus House and I have a debt I didn’t even make myself. What do you know about choices?”

“I didn’t choose to become a Cassiline Brother either,” Daniel shrugs.

“How come?” Fernando asks.

“I was the middle son. It’s a custom for noble families to send their middle son to become a Cassiline Brother.”

“You come from a noble family, then?”

Daniel nods. Fernando leans back in the cushions. His parents sold him because they had debts and other children to feed. But Daniel’s parents did it out of some higher principle. He’s always thought that what his parents did was low, but now that he thinks about it, there is no difference between him and Daniel. They both had no say in what their destiny would be.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The carriage stops in front of a big house. It looks almost like a small palace. A young girl in a servant’s uniform leads them in. The interior looks different than Fernando imagined it. Somehow he pictured David’s house to look like Mandrake House – cold stone and iron. But there are thick carpets on the floors, paintings in golden frames all along the corridors, and the air smells faintly of old books and beeswax. As much as Fernando can see from Marquis de Silva’s household, all are women.

When they reach the private chambers, the servant takes Fernando’s coat and turns to Daniel. “My lord asks you to make yourself comfortable here in the antechamber,” she blurts out.

Daniel frowns. “Why here?”

“Lord Simeone stated he wanted you to stay close to your charge, and Marquis de Silva wants the contract to be kept.”

Daniel seems to be cursing Simeone in his mind, but he doesn’t object any further. The servant knocks on the door and then pushes the handle, far too soon for Fernando. He doesn’t have enough time to mentally prepare himself, although his body is as ready as it will ever be.

David is sitting in a comfortable armchair, dressed casually, as he probably dresses any other night when he’s alone. Compared to him, Fernando feels like he has too much on, like he’s too dressed up in his crimson velvet.

“Leave us,” David says simply, looking past Fernando at the servant, like Fernando isn’t even there.

The girl curtseys and closes the door, leaving Fernando alone with his first patron.

 

~ ~ ~

 

David spends quite some time just looking at Fernando, testing his patience. Fernando knows his patience tends to wear thin quickly, but he manages to stand still. David raises his brows then like he’s expecting something, but Fernando can’t figure out what it is.

“You’ll kneel in my presence,” David states in a calm voice.

Fernando finds it difficult to swallow. He doesn’t know if it’s part of his curse or just his nature, but a part of him doesn’t want to obey. A part of him wants to find out what will happen if he misbehaves.

But another part of him is eager to please, and he kneels down on the soft rug, with his eyes cast down. He can more feel and hear that David got up from the armchair than he can see him. Only then the shiny leather of David‘s boots comes in his view.

David sinks his hand in Fernando's hair and pulls. Fernando goes with it just enough to let David tilt his head back, but not enough to diminish the pain it causes him.

David’s lips twitch as he looks Fernando right in the eyes. “His dart found you well,” he says.

He releases Fernando's hair and walks behind him. His hand wraps around Fernando's throat and just rests there as a solid weight. Fernando doesn‘t know if he fears that he will tighten the grip, or if the thought actually excites him. David‘s clothes smell of cinnamon or something equally sweet and warm, like the spices Fernando's seen on the market, sold by the merchants from Khebbel-im-Akkad. Combined with the situation, it makes his head spin.

“You refused some very important people for me,” he says. “Despite my bad reputation. Or was that what drew you in?”

“I don’t kn-” David’s fingers press on Fernando's pulse point and his vision immediately starts to blacken at the edges.

“I think you know very well who I am,” David says calmly. “If you didn’t find out in Mandrake House, then certainly Simeone told you. Or maybe you’ve heard some gossip in the City.”

Fernando's hand flies up instinctively and he tries to prey David’s fingers away. But he barely gets to touch the back of his hand when David loosens his grip. “I’m not going to kill you,” he says with a bit of amusement in his voice. “That would be only half the fun.”

Fernando takes a deep breath. By the time he recomposes himself, David is sitting back in the armchair, drinking wine like nothing happened. “Come here,” he orders.

Fernando doesn’t fall into the trap this time. He shuffles forward on his knees. He keeps his eyes on the elaborate pattern of the rug, but he is sure that David is watching him all the time. Once he reaches the armchair, he sits back on his heels and waits.

“You know what I want. I think you are not that innocent to not have a clue.”

Fernando's lips twitch and he would swear that David is smiling as well above him.

This part is easy. Francesc taught him all about this art, as it once was what he excelled in, or so he says. The feeling of dread and anxiety goes away as he undoes David‘s pants. He‘s not afraid to do this. He‘s curious.

He follows Francesc‘s instructions, memorized from the hours and hours of lessons. He licks and flicks his tongue, works his fingers and then his mouth up and down. David‘s hand lands on the back of his head and it almost startles him, but it feels good. The small pleased sounds David makes are almost a better reward than the money.

Fernando senses when David is close, and it surprises him that he knows it instinctively, not needing any of Francesc‘s tips. He lifts his eyes in question, and David gives him the answer by tightening the grip on his hair.

Fernando wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and then dares to look at David once again. He looks pleased, and it sends a wave of warmth towards Fernando's heart. He knows that this is not supposed to be about feelings, but deep inside he wants to please this man.

“Let‘s make it about you now, shall we?” David smiles.

 

~ ~ ~

 

After what he’d seen at Mandrake House, he would expect someone like David to use the luxurious tools, but the rope he uses to tie Fernando's hands together is the common kind used in all households. It’s all coarse and scratchy and Fernando knows that if he tries to struggle, it will leave marks that will remind him of this encounter for days.

David throws the rope over the wooden frame of the canopy and secures it so fast that Fernando doesn’t even have time to see what he’s doing. He wonders how many times David has already done it.

He gives the bonds a tentative tug. He can tell a professional work right away, as they won’t give in even when he flexes his muscles. The excitement fills him without him really wanting it, and his mouth goes dry when David casually picks up a flogger.

For long seconds that feel like an eternity, David’s dark eyes are boring into Fernando's like he is searching his very soul. “So what is it that you’re supposed to find out about here?” he asks.

Fernando feels the blood freeze in his veins. “My lord, I don’t...”

“I figured out Simeone’s game,” David states. “He’s planning to use you to extract information from people. How clever. I wonder what he wants from me.”

“He’s not… he didn’t even want me to…”

David laughs shortly, walking behind him. “Do you seriously believe that, Fernando? He could see it right away that I was interested in you, from the evening in the palace. If he didn’t want you to end up here, why would he make sure that we meet on every occasion? Showing you to me like that and pretending that he didn’t want you to come near me. I bet that he kept telling you to avoid me, didn’t he?”

Fernando gasps. In the next moment, a lash lands on his lower back and he bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. The coppery taste fills his mouth immediately. “I asked you a question,” David reminds him.

“Yes,” Fernando breathes, then panics that it might not be a sufficient answer, so he hurries up to add: “Yes, he told me to avoid you!”

“Only to make you more intrigued,” David smiles and caresses Fernando’s cheek, chuckling when Fernando leans into the touch. “And you fell for it. Silly boy.”

Fernando shivers when he hears the steps behind him. “What does Simeone want?” David asks.

“I-I don’t know.”

Another lash. It burns more than the first one.

“Don’t lie to me, Fernando.” David’s voice is ice cold. “You know that it’s not a good thing to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

Another lash.

“And Simeone didn’t even teach you how to speak to someone like me. I see you’re just as rude as him.”

“I’m not lying to you, my lord,” Fernando corrects himself through the gritted teeth. His back is starting to burn and every lash sends a jolt of pleasure to his loins. It’s different than the punishment back in Cereus House. The guard there wanted it to hurt for the sake of hurting. David wants it to hurt for the sake of pleasure.

“He thought that he could outsmart me,” David laughs. “I’ll make him regret it. I’m sorry that I have to use you for it.”

There are no more questions, just pain and pleasure, and Fernando's mind clouds with red smoke as he writhes on the bed, his knees sinking into the soft mattress while the rope bites in his wrists.

It takes him a while to realize that there are no more lashes, that his hands are free. He falls forward, trying to catch his breath, waiting for what comes next.

“You were brave,” David says, observing him from the side of the bed. “For a first-timer...”

Fernando realizes that he wishes he would come closer, that he would touch him, take away that coldness that makes him shiver even though his back feels like there’s a fire burning right on his skin. David knows, he must know, but he just puts the flogger back calmly and watches Fernando from a distance.

Then it comes to him. All he has to do is to ask. That is what David wants him to do – beg. “Please,” he whispers.

David raises his brows. “What do you need?”

“You.”

He cannot imagine that he’d go home with the money but still a virgin. He would rather die.

David smiles. “I’m letting you off easy and it’s not what you want? Are you not interested in money?”

Fernando gulps and lowers his eyes.

“No, of course you’re not,” David chuckles. “Not more than you’re interested in pleasure. That’s something we have in common.”

Finally, finally, he touches him, laying a hand on Fernando's abused back. Fernando's back arches on instinct. David presses down, making him lie down on the bed. Fernando complies, resting his cheek on the smooth, cool silk, watching David undress. He takes his time, pretending that he doesn’t notice Fernando's growing frustration.

It’s a lot different than the Showing in Camellia House. There is no sweet devotion like he saw in the eyes of the two adepts, and no long preparations either. Fernando gasps, the familiar red veil covering his vision when David enters him, his fingers tangling in the silk sheets. Then he feels a weight on his back as David leans over him, his hot breath caressing Fernando's cheek.

“I want you to scream so that even your guard hears you outside,” he whispers.

And Fernando does.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando scrambles to put on his clothes. He is not supposed to stay there until the morning. He guesses that only the adepts of the Gentian House do that, as it’s kind of the purpose – if you are to read someone’s dreams, you have to sleep with them in one bed first. But he’s done his work. His body feels heavy and sore, but it’s the pleasant pain that comforts more than anything else. He hopes it’s still in his muscles when he comes home, so that it can lull him to sleep.

“May I ask you something, my lord?” he asks when he’s mostly dressed, looking at David who is calmly pouring himself more wine.

“So you do want to know something, after all,” David smiles. “What is it?”

“I’m told that your family... that you have Kushiel’s blood. That your bloodline is the purest.”

David raises his brows. “And?”

“But... Kushiel lived thousands and thousands of years ago. How would you keep the bloodline so pure?”

“So this is the secret you want to know?” David smirks. “And what price are you willing to pay for it?”

Fernando gives him a confused look. David keeps watching him, tiny flames of amusement flickering in his eyes, and Fernando wonders how this charming man and the cruel scion of Kushiel are one person.

“You name your price, my lord,” Fernando says then.

“My price...” David sighs and looks at him. “Secret for a secret. You want to know more about me, I want to know more about you. I want a simple promise. When I make you another offer, you won’t deny me a night with you.”

Fernando wouldn’t deny him anything, not even his heart, his blood, his life. “I won’t,” he whispers. “I promise.”

“So how would we keep our bloodline pure...” David says with a smile. “It’s very simple, sweetheart. We marry our own cousins. Unlike the ruling house of this country, we don’t let strangers pollute our blood. And we do care about our lineage to be continued.”

“But you are not married,” Fernando states.

“No, but one day I will be,” David smirks. “I can still afford the frivolous life of a young lord. But the day will come when I’ll have to take the responsibility.”

Fernando cannot imagine a woman next to this man, he can’t imagine him fathering children, but he knows that David would defy his nature for the sake of his family. Family is the most important thing for the people from Kusheth, his teacher once told him, and if someone betrays their family, they are never forgiven.

David hands him a pouch with money. It’s heavier than Fernando expected. “My gift for you,” he says.

“Thank you, my lord,” Fernando says.

David leans closer to him and Fernando accepts the kiss willingly. David’s lips then move to his ear. “You crossed off the _flechettes_ ,” he whispers. “Why? Were you afraid?”

“Maybe,” Fernando breathes out. “Or not prepared. I thought I was prepared for everything, and you showed me even more than I could imagine.”

“There is a myriad of things I haven’t shown you yet,” David smiles. “But I could, one of these days, if you wanted to.”

Fernando wants.

 


	9. Nine

The ride back to Simeone’s house is silent. Daniel won’t meet Fernando's eyes, and Fernando himself is too exhausted to mind.

Simeone is waiting for him, but he only greets him and checks that Fernando is fine. He doesn’t keep him up for questioning, and Fernando is grateful for it. He undresses and washes quickly, and then slides under the covers, his body still singing him lullabies of dull pain in his joints.

He falls asleep almost immediately.

~ ~ ~

Simeone is waiting for him in his study after breakfast.

“I hope there wasn’t anything your lessons with Francesc didn’t prepare you for,” he says, almost like he feels uncomfortable discussing Fernando's task.

“I needed little of my knowledge,” Fernando says, and it surprises him when the words come out bitter.

“Some patrons are like that,” Simeone says soothingly. “Some demand a little, some want all of it. Anyway, I think that if Marquis de Silva were displeased, I’d already know.”

“He knows your game,” Fernando whispers. “I swear that I didn’t tell him anything, but he... he just knew.”

“Yes,” Simeone says calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But...”

“There was a reason why I didn’t want you to find anything in Marquis de Silva’s house, Fernando. I know him. And he knows me. Figuring out my game wasn’t too hard for him.”

“But if he knows, then he can tell other people, and then our game will have no meaning!”

“No, I don’t think that he will tell anyone,” Simeone smiles. “On the contrary, he will keep it a secret. Because important people revealing secrets to you in a moment of bliss, and stewing because of it afterwards... as I know Marquis de Silva, it will amuse him quite a bit.”

“There was one strange thing he said, though,” Fernando says and looks at Simeone hesitantly. “I asked him about his lineage. And he said that unlike the ruling house of this country, they didn’t let strangers pollute their blood and that they cared about their lineage to be continued. What did he mean by that?”

Simeone looks intrigued, but it seems to Fernando that he tries to conceal it. “I don’t know,” he says. “He might hint to Prince Iker, his origins... The late Queen wasn’t from this country. But I have no idea what he meant by the latter. Well, that will be all. Or... Actually, one more thing. I talked to the  _marquist_ yesterday. I thought you’d want to start working on it as soon as possible.”

Fernando's face lights up. “Really?” he whispers.

“Yes. And judging by the generous gift you were given last night, you can get a good portion of the base done.”

~ ~ ~

He doesn’t have time to visit Sergio until the following week, as he’s busy with the appointments at the  _marquist_ ’s shop, solving Simeone’s mysteries with Antoine, and picking his next patron.

When he appears at the inn, Sergio looks furious. “How dare you keep me waiting for so long when I know who you’ve been with?” he growls, pulling Fernando inside. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Despite Sergio’s genuine concern, Fernando has to laugh. “Of course he did,” he says. “That’s what he hired me for.”

“I hope he at least paid you well,” Sergio mumbles. “And that he was, you know...”

“He didn’t do anything I wouldn’t agree to,” Fernando assures him. “And he paid half of my bond to Simeone... and gave me quite a generous gift.”

“So you have it already?” Sergio grins. “The _marque_?”

“Just the bases,” Fernando says. “But I’ve seen the sketch the artist did. It will be beautiful.”

“Can I see it?” Sergio asks. “I mean, what it looks like now.”

“No!”

Sergio pouts. “Why not?”

“The _marque_ isn’t supposed to be shown before it’s complete.”

“But every patron you have will see it,” Sergio folds his arms. “But, of course, I, as your best friend, can’t. Never mind.”

Fernando sighs deeply. “Fine,” he says then. “I’ll show it to you. But don’t tell anyone, all right?”

“Your secrets are safe with me,” Sergio grins.

Fernando takes off his shirt and pulls his pants down his hips a little bit to reveal even the lowest part of the  _marque_ . Sergio gasps and reaches out to touch it. Fernando shivers when his friend’s fingers touch the still tender skin. 

Sergio retracts his hand immediately. “Sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Fernando breathes. “But don’t worry about that.”

Sergio hesitates, but then he runs his finger over the fresh lines. Fernando bites on his lower lip and reaches back to grab Sergio’s hand. He makes him press down harder on his skin and turns his head to look at him.

“It’s that thing of yours, isn’t it?” Sergio asks with his eyes wide. “It really feels good when I hurt you?”

Fernando nods and wonders what it would be like, to let Sergio have him, Sergio, whom – unlike other people – he trusts completely. But it’s only a dream, at least for now. He’s not free yet, he can’t give himself freely.

He pulls up his pants and puts on his shirt, longing for the skin it covers to be marked completely.

~ ~ ~

“I need advice,” Sergio says when they walk out in the sun.

“From me?” Fernando laughs. “Aren’t you the one who always knows everything?”

“It’s Prince Álvaro’s birthday soon,” Sergio says, pretending that Fernando didn’t say anything. “And it will be the first time he will visit the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers.”

“And?” Fernando looks at him.

“Well, people are placing bets on which House he will choose for his first assignation,” Sergio explains and takes a bite of the peach Fernando brought him. “So I thought you could help me.”

“Me?” Fernando frowns. “How?”

“You’ve seen the Prince in person, and you know the houses. Who else could tell me which one to bet on?”

Fernando just shakes his head. “I don’t know which one he will choose.”

“Oh, come on,” Sergio pouts. “Won’t you help your best friend win a few coins?”

Fernando sighs and leans over the wall. “Well, then. Not Valerian and not Mandrake.”

“I thought so,” Sergio snorts.

“Gentian is probably out of question as well, unless he suffers from insomnia or nightmares.”

“And Balm is out of question unless he suffers from severe back pain and needs a good massage,” Sergio chuckles.

“Balm House can also heal the soul,” Fernando frowns. “But I would cross off Balm as well. Eglantine... I wouldn’t really consider them for the first assignation. Nor Orchis. Bryony would certainly want to welcome him, but he’s not the type. He’s not even snobbish enough for Dahlia.”

Sergio is fiddling with his fingers impatiently. “Cereus?” he asks then with an impish smile.

Fernando just smiles. “You know, when I think of Prince Álvaro, I almost want to say Alyssum...” he says then and closes his eyes, trying to recall the prince’s face and every little detail he remembers about him. “But if I were to place the bet myself, I’d go with Heliotrope.”

“Heliotrope?” Sergio yells. “That’s so random!”

“No, it isn’t,” Fernando shakes his head. “ _Thou, and no other._ Álvaro is just the type that would want to feel loved and appreciated, to feel like he’s the only one.”

“Fine,” Sergio sighs. “I’ll trust you. But if I lose because the Prince chooses to have a perfect night in Camellia, you’ll pay me back!”

“That wasn’t a part of the deal!” Fernando objects but laughs. “Speaking about that, what House would _you_ choose?”

“Me?” Sergio raises his brows. “The one you’d be in, of course.”

“But I’d be in Valerian,” Fernando smiles mischievously.

“So what?” Sergio shrugs. “I’d just ask that Mandrake adept you hate so much for a few lessons.”

Fernando slaps him on the back. These are things he can only tell Sergio, and only these things he can tell him. Those little, insignificant anecdotes and grievances, such as his hatred for Ander, the petty rivalry between him and Antoine, Daniel’s haughtiness. He hates having secrets, but he has to keep them so that one day they don’t have to have any between them.

~ ~ ~

The offers for Fernando's services come every day. He takes his time before he chooses and strangely finds out that the right person to consult them with isn’t Simeone but Antoine. Whenever Fernando wants to make an imprudent choice, Antoine stops him and lists all the reasons why Fernando should reconsider.

As for Antoine, he keeps ignoring all the offers that come from more or less important noblemen, sticking to countesses, baronesses and dames of the court. When Fernando asks him about it, he answers with a cheeky smile: “Even ladies know important things. You won’t do this job, so I have to do it in your stead.”

And he is right. Fernando doesn’t feel compelled to accept any of the ladies’ offers, although they are numerous. Not a week passes without certain Countess Olalla sending her offer together with some expensive gift, and it’s getting a bit ridiculous to return it every time.

The only person he ignores with more vigor is Raúl González, but for that he has different reasons.

Finally, an offer comes that looks more interesting than the rest. A certain nobleman from La Serenissima, not at all with a serenissiman name, but who cares about names. Antoine narrows his eyes when he sees the offer, and it’s enough for Fernando to make his decision. When he tells Simeone, Simeone looks pleased as well.

“You seem to start getting a grip on the politics,” he smiles. “Yes, with Prince Álvaro here we could use every piece of information from Caerdica Unitas. And people who actually hate that country will be more likely to give the information.”

“How do you know that he hates the country?” Fernando asks.

“Oh, trust me,” Simeone smiles. “This man hates everyone.”

And so it happens that Fernando accepts the offer from Lord Zlatan.

~ ~ ~

Fernando’s first impression of Lord Zlatan is that he is huge. He’s even bigger than Daniel, and as much as Fernando believes Daniel’s skills, he is not entirely sure that he would be able to protect him from Zlatan if it came to that.

He has to remind himself that there is a contract standing and that it wouldn’t be in Zlatan’s interest to breach it.

“Your patrons seem to be generous,” Zlatan says when he looks at Fernando's incomplete marque. There is a thick accent on his words.

“One patron, my lord,” Fernando corrects him softly.

“You are picky with your patrons, it seems,” Zlatan notes. “I’m only the second one, then?”

Fernando nods and looks at him. Zlatan towers over him but seems to be rather indecisive. Fernando senses from him that he is nothing like David. The cruelty doesn’t run in his blood, it rather comes from his anger and hurt feelings. Although Fernando knows little to nothing about him, he feels like something or someone has hurt this man so deeply that he now feels the urge to hurt others.

“I was surprised when you agreed on this particular night, my lord,” Fernando says carefully when Zlatan does nothing but look at him. “Everyone important is celebrating Prince Álvaro’s birthday.”

“Yes,” Zlatan says with certain bitterness. “You seem to have taken him for one of your own.”

“Why, he is related to the King,” Fernando shrugs. “And he is well liked by everyone.”

“Álvaro is a brat who is only lucky to have the good blood in his veins,” Zlatan says.

Fernando wouldn’t ever use the word _brat_ while talking about Álvaro, but Zlatan is quick to judge and it seems like nothing can escape his critical eye.

“Maybe you’d prefer entertaining him tonight,” he adds.

“I don’t think that he has a taste for entertainers of my kind, my lord,” Fernando replies calmly.

“Your kind,” Zlatan chuckles, finally taking a step closer. “Let me see what is so good about you that people are willing to ruin themselves for a night with you.”

 

 


	10. Ten

Fernando doesn’t see what exactly Zlatan does to him, but that doesn’t matter. He feels it well, although he spends most of the night chained face to the wall. Looking over his shoulder would mean risking losing an eye to Zlatan’s scourge.

When Zlatan finally lets him go, he thinks the sun must be rising, but it’s still dark behind the windows.

“Your gift,” Zlatan says, throwing a pouch with coins to him.

He doesn’t say if he was pleased or not, doesn’t praise nor berate. He looks mildly annoyed, but that hasn’t changed since Fernando's arrival, so maybe it’s Zlatan’s usual face.

Daniel is waiting for him in the antechamber. He blinks when he sees Fernando, but says nothing, and Fernando isn’t in the mood for talking either. There is fire burning on his back under his shirt that is clinging to his skin and he doesn’t know if it’s blood, sweat, or both.

It’s different from the sweet pain that slowly lulled him to sleep the first time. This one is exhausting, and although his body sings with pleasure, it doesn’t obey him like it should.

Next thing he knows, his legs give in and he’s falling.

His knees barely touch the carpeted floor when a pair of strong arms wraps around his waist and steadies him. Daniel’s green eyes flash in his vision before the whole world starts to darken again. He feels Daniel throw his arm over his shoulder pull him up, and he tries to help him by somehow managing to stand up, so that Daniel can more support him than carry him.

The last thing he remembers is the smell of night air that hits him in the face when they walk out of the house.

~ ~ ~

When he awakens, he is in his bed, lying on his stomach. There is something damp on his back and when he opens his eyes, he sees Antoine looking at him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Feeling better?” Antoine smiles, replacing the wet cloth on his back with a colder one.

Fernando looks around in confusion. He has no memory of getting home. “How did I get here?” he asks.

“Daniel practically carried you here,” Antoine says and then grins mischievously. “Whatever happened last night, it unnerved him. He almost ran away right when he put you to bed. I thought nothing should frighten a Cassiline.”

Fernando swallows thickly.

“Did you find out anything?” Antoine asks.

“Not much,” Fernando admits, sounded more defeated than he thought he would. “Just that Lord Zlatan holds a grudge against this country and Prince Álvaro in particular. He calls him a brat.”

“No wonder,” Antoine muses. “Everywhere he goes, they make it clear he doesn’t really belong there. While Álvaro is as loved in La Serenissima as he is here.”

“It’s not that difficult, with his face and manners, to fit in here,” Fernando says. “While Lord Zlatan would fit more in a Skaldian war tribe. With both his looks and his manners.”

Antoine giggles.

“I see you are awake,” Simeone says.

Fernando strains his neck to look over his shoulder to the door. “My lord, I...”

“I was considering calling a doctor last night but Antoine insisted he’d manage to take care of you,” Simeone continues like Fernando didn’t say anything. “But if you need something for the pain...”

“The pain isn’t a problem.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Simeone smiles a bit sadly and then looks at Fernando. “You should rest for some time now.”

“But...” Fernando objects. 

“No patron wants to be amused by someone who can’t even stand, Fernando,” Simeone says.

“I’m sorry I made a wrong choice,” Fernando mumbles.

“A wrong choice?”

“By choosing Lord Zlatan. It was good for nothing. He either doesn’t know anything or is good at keeping his secrets. But it’s hard finding out things when I don’t even know what I’m looking for. And I’d like to at least know why I let someone slice my back into pieces because whatever you may think, my body can like it but my mind still asks questions.”

Even Antoine looks at Simeone this time.

“All right,” Simeone says slowly and sits in an armchair. “The throne is in danger. The king’s glorious times have long since passed and although it seems to be logical for Prince Iker to ascend to the throne, he doesn’t have his position nearly as secure as you’d think. Some of the noble houses think that there are people who have more right to claim the throne.”

“Such as Prince Álvaro?” Fernando asks.

“Yes,” Simeone nods. “Some say his blood is purer than Iker’s.”

“Such as Marquis de Silva,” Fernando states. “He told me the ruling house of this country let strangers pollute their blood.”

“You see,” Simeone nods. “With Prince Álvaro turning up here without being officially invited by anyone from the immediate court... Iker’s enemies made their point, and it’s his time to make a move. But in what direction, who knows?”

“A marriage would help,” Antoine says thoughtfully. “Tying a powerful country to ours...”

“But Lady Sara isn’t from a powerful country,” Fernando says. “That marriage will bring him nothing.”  
  
“Exactly,” Simeone nods. “Just one reason more for Iker’s enemies to think putting Álvaro on the throne won’t be impossible, and maybe better for the country. But even those enemies need allies, and La Serenissima isn’t powerful enough. That is what I need to know. Who was the one who invited Álvaro here, and who are his allies? Only then we will know how big is the danger that befalls the throne.”

“And what will we do then?” Antoine asks.

“Bring it to the right ears,” Simeone smiles.

~ ~ ~

Although Simeone is adamant when it comes to taking assignations, as soon as Fernando can walk, he heads to the City to at least see Sergio. As soon as he enters the market, Sergio waves at him, a pouch with money in the other hand.

“I see you’ve won your bet,” Fernando grins.

As he predicted, Prince Álvaro chose an adept from Heliotrope House, a tall blond man with a divine face and taut body. The Dowayne of Heliotrope House, Unai Emery, almost jumped for joy, not only because of the generous payment he got but also because it gave back a bit of fame to his often overlooked house.

“Yes,” Sergio says. “If only I had had more money to put on it, though.”

Fernando smiles and sits on the low wall. Sergio looks around. “Where is your guard? Isn’t he supposed to protect you always and everywhere?”

Fernando frowns. “Unfortunately, he is,” he says. “And I bet he’s somewhere behind us. We just can’t see him.”

“You know what is interesting?” Sergio asks and looks at Fernando. “The adept Prince Álvaro chose...”

“What’s with him?” 

“He grew up in the Mandrake House before Heliotrope bought his bond,” Sergio smiles. “Maybe, after all, he does have a bit of the taste for your kind.”

“It doesn’t matter where you grow up, the education matters,” Fernando says.

“Sure, but something from your origins stays in you, doesn’t it? You still have something from Cereus in you.”

Fernando blinks in surprise. He’s never felt like he belonged to Cereus. Not truly. He wanted to, but everyone made it obvious he was different.

“By the way,” Sergio asks, pulling an apple from one of the many secret pockets of his coat. “When did Marquis de Silva become Prince Iker’s best friend?”

“He’s been acting that way since I first saw him,” Fernando makes a face. “Why?”

“He is throwing a party for him,” Sergio says. “In Cereus house.”

“How do you know?”

Sergio grins. “People talk, you know. At the inns, at the market place...”

“But why should it interest me?”

“The nobles never do anything without a reason,” Sergio shrugs.

That, Fernando knows is quite true. But Marquis de Silva isn’t like any of the other nobles.

He’s already learned as much.

~ ~ ~

The offers never stop coming.

Although Simeone didn’t give him an exact date when he could start taking assignations again, he knows that it’s imminent, and he can as well choose his next patron now.

“Raúl González again,” he sighs, reading one of the many letters.

“Do you have a special reason why you refuse his offer every time?” Antoine asks.

“Yes,” Fernando says. “He wants me. And if I refuse him a couple times, by the time I finally accept his offer, he will be furious. And then I will have more chances to get something important out of him.”

“I hope that you know what you are doing.”

To be completely honest, Fernando doesn’t. But Antoine can’t understand. Can’t understand the thrill, the danger that makes it all a bit better, makes him a bit more alert. Antoine has nothing to fear. His patrons are ladies that are not dangerous, not in a physical way at least, and they treat him like a flower.

And getting things out of them is also easier than of the lords. Or at least less painful.

“If I am to do this,” Fernando says slowly. “Then let it be with someone who can pay well for it. And I don’t mean money.”

Just as he speaks the word, one of the servants come in. “Marquis de Silva is here to see you,” he says, his face beyond worried. Fernando's already figured out that Marquis de Silva was feared in this house no less than he was feared elsewhere.

David walks in gives them both a curt nod as they bow to him. “I’m told Simeone isn’t here,” he says in a lewd voice. “But I can as well solve the matter with you.”

“I don’t take assignations now,” Fernando says.

“So I’ve heard,” David smiles. “Lord Zlatan hardly knows what your gift means. Surprising choice from the both of you. I’ll bide my time, then. You’ve heard of the banquet at Cereus House, I suppose?”

“People talk,” Fernando says, remembering Sergio’s words.

“Of course they do,” David says. “I’d like you to be my guests. You, your lord, and...” he turns to Antoine.

“Antoine,” Antoine says with a smile, not taking any offense.

“And Antoine,” David says. 

“Why are you inviting us?” Fernando asks, not caring about being impolite.

“And why not?” David laughs. “It’s my banquet. I can invite whoever I want. My regards to Simeone.”

He walks out as gracefully as he walked in, followed by the worried servant and two worried pairs of eyes.

~ ~ ~

When they come to the banquet, Fernando understands that inviting them probably wasn’t a big deal for David. It seems that the whole kingdom is there. From the highest nobility to some soldiers, probably famous warriors, causing banter every now and then, chasing the Cereus adepts who don’t look too happy about being treated that way. The old Dowayne is nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping somewhere again, but Gabi is there and there is certain distaste in his face. Unlike the Dowayne, he prefers the values of the House to money.

Fernando notices with a certain curiosity that Prince Álvaro is not there. If this banquet is supposed to make a point about David’s loyalty, then it is quite blatant.

Fernando gives a compassionate smile to Óliver, who only just escapes a shower of glass shards after one of the soldiers breaks his glass against the wall, and slips outside to the gardens.

“Is the air inside too stiff?” he hears a familiar voice behind his back.

He turns around and looks at David. “Rather dangerous,” he smiles. “Flying glass, for example. Let a shard cut your face and your value as an adept is as well as gone. At least in this House.”

“I can’t believe that they let you live here for so long,” David says. “You’re nothing like the Cereus folk.”

“The Dowayne thought otherwise at first,” Fernando shrugs. “Me too. I felt like I could belong here, until they started to let me know I was different. Maybe I longed to belong with them.” 

“I find them rather boring, but what can you do?” David sighs.

“To each his own, my lord,” Fernando mumbles.

“Of course,” David smiles. “Not everyone can appreciate the beauty of our desires. Neither can I appreciate the fragile beauty. I like what bends under the touch of my hands, not that which breaks.”

He pulls him closer and Fernando's breath hitches when their bodies come in close contact. David doesn‘t even have to hurt him to make him desire him, and it scares Fernando more than anything else.

“I wish we had more time,” David says. 

_Me too,_ Fernando thinks.

“Sadly, the night belongs to someone else. But I am sure that we will soon have a chance to make up for it.” David steps away from him and it‘s almost physically painful. Then he looks to the fountain where some of the Cereus adepts are entertaining the guests. “Saúl,” he calls.

Saúl breaks away from the group and comes to them. He smiles kindly at Fernando. Fernando thinks that if they were both still adepts of the same house, he wouldn’t smile like that. He would be plotting against him.

“Fernando is my guest tonight,” David smiles. “I wouldn’t want him to leave upset. However, I have too many guests to attend to, so I will leave the task to please him to you.”

Saúl bows, and if he is as horrified as Fernando is, he hides it well. “My lord.”

David turns to leave, but then he gives them one last look. “Be gentle with him, Saúl,” he smirks. “And I emphasize the word _gentle_.”

~ ~ ~

“I wonder what game Marquis de Silva is playing,” Antoine says in the carriage on their way home. “Nobody will believe him any more than they do now if he throws banquets for the Prince.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t care what people think,” Fernando spits. “There is a bigger enemy out there threatening the kingdom, and everyone cares about a petty animosity that is maybe not even based on truth.”

The irritation in his voice is so strong that it surprises him. Saúl’s gentle touches were enough to start a fire, but not nearly enough to consume him, and Fernando needs to burn. Leave alone that David messed up with their roles completely, making Saúl subordinate to Fernando where they should be equal, and then the tables turned and it wound up being Fernando the one begging and crawling, his gift or curse giving him no choice, leaving him embarrassed and spiteful once it was over. He knows that it was what David had intended, it was a little torture to remind him that there was much more lying ahead that Fernando couldn’t yet see.

And the fact that David doesn’t even need to touch him to torture him is equally exciting as it is terrifying.

 


	11. Eleven

It is perhaps the grudge he still holds against David after the ball or his natural lack of self-preservation, but when the offers from both David and Raúl González land on his table, he accepts the offer of the latter.

He can feel Antoine’s disapproving gaze on him as he hands his letter to the messenger, he can feel Simeone’s as well, but that one is different. He knows that however protective Simeone acts, deep inside he hopes that one day either Antoine or Fernando will bring him the information he needs. And the more patrons Fernando has, the more convinced he is that his blood is a price Simeone is willing to pay for it.

But it’s not what makes him sick. Simeone bought him from the Dowayne for this. All the luxury of his mansion and all the care and education are just generous gifts. What makes Fernando sick is that he himself longs to bring that information to him and that his blood is the price even  _he_ is willing to pay for it himself. Why, he doesn’t really know. Maybe he longs for freedom, at least that is what he keeps telling himself and what he keeps telling Sergio when they dream together of discovering the world. But maybe he longs for something else, for Simeone’s gratefulness and approval, maybe he just wants someone to be proud of him, because no one’s ever been proud of him – his parents, the Dowayne, the instructors at Cereus House, no one.

And then there is the thrill all those dangerous encounters bring him, and the pleasure that comes with it.

Fernando knows that he has to get out of the house before all the thoughts suffocate him. There is only one place that can give him at least a bit of comfort, where he feels like people don’t think him a freak.

He orders his horse to be saddled and then rides for the Mandrake House.

 

~ ~ ~

 

He finds Aritz in one of the large halls, distributing work to some adepts. When he notices Fernando, he raises his brows in question but finishes his work before coming closer to him.

“You,” he states.

“Your Dowayne said I was always welcome,” Fernando says like he needs to protect himself at least with some shield because Aritz’ eyes see right through him.

“You are,” Aritz says, and there is no warmth nor distaste in his voice, it’s calm and steady as ever.

“I... I need a piece of advice.” He follows Aritz out of the hall.

“On how to please Lord González?” Aritz asks.

Fernando doesn’t even try to ask him how he knows. In the City, nothing remains a secret – nothing, except the matters of the court. Which is why he is doing this in the first place.

“I... Why do the patrons get to me so easily?” Fernando asks, trying not to sound like a whiny kid. “They don’t even need to touch me, or... they can be people I’d hate, but...”

Aritz stops at the door that leads out to a small yard. There are no fountains nor flowers, and the main thing in the garden seems to be a large tree with leaves that look almost black. When they come closer to it, Fernando notices that the bark has deep lines in it that look almost like the tree too was whipped.

“That is nothing I can help you with,” Aritz says. “Nor anyone else. It’s not a matter of training. It’s a matter of that red thing in your eye.”

“But I have to learn somehow...”

“There are things you can learn, and those you can not,” Aritz says calmly. “To be ready to debut in our house, you need to snuff out a candle holder of twenty candles with a whip, so that not even one candle falls. You need to be able to cut ten peaches in half with a riding crop. Do you think that impossible? No, it can be learned. Everyone you’ve met here is able to do that. Everyone. Some learned it faster, some needed more time. But some things are beyond your control. You can only learn to use them to your advantage.”

Fernando nods and runs his fingers across the line on the tree’s bark. Aritz leans against the tree and looks at him. “Lord González is known for using the Valerian adepts frequently,” he says. “He’s used to their docility, their desire to please him. He expects the same of you. Meet him with a different attitude, and you’re bound to surprise him. Is that what you needed to know?”

Finally, Fernando smiles. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

He leaves Aritz in the yard, resolving to leave alone. As he passes the door of the small chapel where he knows stands an altar to Kushiel, he notices that it’s ajar. Suddenly he feels compelled to look in the face of the one who chose him as his own.

He sneaks in and then stops in his tracks. There is Ander kneeling in front of the bronze statue of Kushiel, lighting candles and laying roses on the pedestal. Fernando considers tiptoeing away, but before he can move, Ander already acknowledges his presence.

“You again,” he says quietly with his back still turned to Fernando. “You seem to enjoy our company, Fernando.”

Fernando just blinks when Ander looks at him. “How did you know it was me?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” Ander says and looks at the bronze statue. “He did.”

Fernando shivers. Ander lays another rose on the pedestal and gets up. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for a piece of advice,” Fernando says truthfully. It’s harder to lie before the bronze eyes of the angel.

“You do not need to know much for people like Raúl González,” Ander says and there is certain distaste in his voice. 

“What do you mean?”

“You have a gift,” Ander says quietly. “He gave you the rarest of gifts. Don’t waste it with people who are not worth it.”

“I can decide myself what I will or will not do!” Fernando snaps.

“No, you can’t,” Ander says calmly. “You don’t belong to yourself, don’t you understand? You never will. You belong to Kushiel and whatever you do, at the end, you will always do what _he_ wants you to do.”

“Do you mean that I can’t decide anything about my life? What point is there in living, then? What is the purpose?”

“As I said, your life belongs to him. All you can do is to pray for him to guide you through it safely.”

Ander hands Fernando the last rose he is holding, and when Fernando takes it, Ander closes his fingers around the stem. Fernando yelps when the thorns sink into his flesh. The pain rocks him gently and he would gladly fall to Ander’s feet, no matter how much he hates him.

“The purpose is to serve,” Ander says. “And to worship. The others serve Naamah first but not us. Each lash your patrons give you is an offering to Kushiel. Same as each lash I give my patrons.”

Fernando swallows thickly. Ander gives him one last look and then he leaves through the door, leaving a faint scent of roses and myrrh behind him.

Fernando lays the blood-stained rose on the pedestal and lifts his eyes. The bronze eyes are as blind as before, but when he closes his own, he thinks that he can almost hear the beating of bronze wings against the wind.

 

~ ~ ~

 

As he is heading out of the house, a young girl dressed in black lace and a fur coat passes him by, giving him one short glance that is enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand up. His eyes slide down to the riding crop she is holding and the feeling intensifies.

“Hey, Ingrid! Ingrid!” a loud voice sounds from the other side of the hall.

The girl turns around. A few other adepts, between them the short one that mocked Fernando at the Masque, run up to her. Fernando marvels at the loudness and cheerfulness of all that. In Cereus House, running, shouting and generally not behaving gracefully was not acceptable.

“Wait!” the short adept shouts. “You can’t just disappear like that and tell us nothing!”

“You’re annoying as always, Iker,” she says nonchalantly and turns her back to them.

“Come on!” another one whines. “How was it in the Palace?” 

“Well, I’m quite sure that Countess Sara will not mount a horse for a few days,” Ingrid smiles.

The boys laugh. Fernando just blinks and realizing that he’s been lingering at the entrance for too long, walks out.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Simeone is in his study when Fernando comes back. When Fernando knocks and enters, he lifts his head and folds his arms.

“You left the house without Daniel’s company,” he states.

“I can take care of myself,” Fernando retorts.

“I thought we agreed on something.”

“And I thought that last time he was supposed to merely bring me home, he had to pray for two days afterwards to cleanse his soul, which I, in my state and doing what I do, apparently stained. So I thought I’d spare him that trouble unless it’s really needed.”

Simeone sighs deeply. “You two both make a big deal out of nothing,” he says. “Well, what did you need?”

“Are you still interested in any information from the court?”

“Do you have any?” Simeone raises his brows. “Where from? I hope not from your dear friend Sergio. That information can’t be really trusted, I’m afraid.”

“No. From Mandrake House.”

“You spend too much time there,” Simeone notes, reaching for his cup. “Well, what is it?”

“Maybe you’ll find it interesting that Countess Sara uses the services of the Mandrake House adepts.”

Simeone puts down the cup quickly. “Countess Sara?”

“Yes,” Fernando nods. “There was this adept who just came back from the palace and she said...”

“She?”

“She. A girl called Ingrid. She said that she was sure Countess Sara wouldn’t mount a horse for a few days after their encounter.”

“Interesting,” Simeone mumbles and then his eyes slide to Fernando’s fingers. “What happened to your hand?” 

Fernando looks at the dried blood on his palm. “I offered a sacrifice to Kushiel.” He omits Ander’s help.

Simeone sighs again. “Fernando...” he says slowly. “Do you really want to do this? Do you really want to serve Naamah?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Fernando whispers.

“I don’t know... sometimes I get the impression that you despise your service.”

Fernando takes a breath, looking out of the window. In the dark, the tree behind it almost looks like the one in the yard of Mandrake House.

“Even if I did, I serve Kushiel first,” he says. “And that’s the service I didn’t choose, and can’t refuse.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Daniel is waiting at the carriage when Fernando walks out of the house. Fernando gets in without looking at him and looks out of the window to avoid his eyes when Daniel sits opposite to him.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says when they leave the lights of the house behind.

“Sorry for what?” Fernando asks.

“Everything. This is not easy for me to do. I’m trying to get used to it, but...”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I was chosen,” Daniel says. “Because it’s my duty.”

“Another thing we have in common,” Fernando sighs.

“We don’t choose our wards,” Daniel says. “While you have a certain freedom of choosing your patrons. But other than that... yes, we have this in common.”

Fernando looks at him and it’s like he really sees him for the first time. Before that, he saw simply a man in grey, the same thing other people see when they look at a Cassiline Brother. They are not supposed to see anything else. But Fernando now does. He notices Daniel’s sharp features, the freckles on his face – another thing they have in common, and his somehow wild green eyes, and he thinks that actually, Daniel is quite beautiful.

“Do you have doubts sometimes?” Fernando asks. “As for... your call?”

Daniel takes a breath, but before he can answer the carriage stop.

“Here we are,” the coachman calls. “Lord González’ mansion.”

 


	12. Twelve

When the servants usher him in the chamber, it’s completely dark in there. He hears the door slam shut behind him and it startles him just a little bit. The rational part of him tells him that whoever decided to lock him there has to let him go eventually. He tries to move forward, but stumbles over something that feels like a big wooden box. His fingers also touch something cold and metallic. It rattles when he moves his hand and he almost jumps back.

The door opens again. The dim light from the other room reveals a dark figure and then the man walks in, holding a lit torch which he aims right in Fernando’s eyes. Blinded, he can only hear the steps approaching him. The light is closer and closer, until it stops moving. Suddenly he feels a strong hand grab him by the throat. He gasps and the hand pushes him back. He’s convinced that he will fall, but the back of his legs hits the wooden box and the hand on his throat forces him to lie on his back.

“Finally we meet,” a low voice says.

Fernando takes a rattling breath. The hand is heavy and he has to resist the urge to claw at it. His eyes only slowly accustom to the light that the torch now burning on the wall offers. He is sure that his patron can see him well. He is the one with all disadvantages possible.

“You are not keen on having things around your throat, I’m told,” the man says. 

Fernando's cheeks burn when he imagines his patrons speaking about him, and he is momentarily grateful for the darkness making it impossible to see the man’s face. His desires and fears are becoming a public secret. It makes him feel even more vulnerable. How is he supposed to draw his patrons’ secrets from them if he can’t keep his own?

“But I think that you will look gorgeous in this.”

Fernando barely notices the stripe of leather before his patron wraps it around his throat and fastens the buckle. It is not tight enough to cut off the air, but enough to make it impossible to forget it. The leather is new and the stitches around the edges scratch him when he tries to move his neck. It is so wide that is covers his neck from the chin almost to the collar bone, making it impossible to bow his head.

Suddenly he hears a rattle of a chain and he feels it pull him up by the collar, until he stands on tiptoes.

“Take off your clothes.”

Fernando just stares at the place where he more feels than sees his patron. Only a swishing sound and sharp pain in his already sore calves wakes him from the daze. It hurts even through the fabric of his clothes and he struggles to keep his balance. “I will repeat the order after five lashes,” his patron says. “You better listen more carefully, then.”

Four more lashes land on his calves. He bites his lips, determined not to give him the satisfaction of listening to his cries.

“Take off your clothes.”

Fernando struggles to unbutton his coat, hanging helplessly by the neck from the ceiling. He manages to shrug it off and let it fall to the floor. The shirt is trickier. He unties the laces around his wrists and the neck, but with the collar and the chain it’s impossible to take it off. He hesitates.

Another lash licks his legs. “Continue.”

He has no other option than to rip the shirt in the front. Then he unbuttons his pants. The chain makes it impossible for him to bend over, so he tries to pull the fabric down his thighs until it slides down on its own.

“Kick the clothes to me, you won’t need them anymore.”

The collar prevents him from looking down, so he tries to guess where the clothes had landed. It is trickier than he had thought and for a while he involuntarily dances naked for his patron. Finally he manages to kick all of the items to him and the man picks them up and crumpled in a ball throws them somewhere to the corner of the room.

“Hands behind your head. I want to see what I get to play with tonight.”

It’s only a fraction of a second that he processes the command, but a stinging pain reminds him that it’s too long. With surprising accuracy, given the dim light, his patron’s crop licks his forearms.

“Simeone said that you were smart,” a mocking voice sounds from the same direction the lashes came from. “He doesn’t ask for much, apparently.”

Fernando feels his cheeks burn. Pain is welcome, it’s the patrons belittling him and insulting him that make his assignments difficult. He raises his hands and entwines his fingers behind his head. He closes his eyes and thinks of Daniel’s words. _Because I was chosen. Because it’s my duty._

Now he understands more than ever.

~ ~ ~

Finally, after what seems like eternity, González unchains him. The collar stays where it is.

They cross the room and González opens the door. The other room is well lit by candles. He cannot say whether it is González’ bedroom or simply his playroom, and it doesn’t matter. There is little to no talking, and Fernando wonders how he could ever find out anything valuable about his patrons when they never want to talk to him. Antoine always brings so much gossip, important or not, that Fernando sometimes thinks his patrons don’t even do anything else than talking with him.

“Well,” González says and sprawls on the bed. “Show me what you can do.”

Fernando climbs on the bed and kneels beside him. He has had a few patrons, and sometimes all it took to take them apart was the mere basics of what Francesc taught him, sometimes he needed more. But Raúl González has the self-control of a Cassilline brother. Half an hour later, he is still watching Fernando from underneath his dark lashes, unmoving and unexcited.

“I will show you how it’s done,” he says then.

Fernando can feel the blood in his cheeks. He feels like the epitome of failure, and doesn’t even have the heart to protest when González ties him to the bed in the most humiliating position he knows. 

He doesn’t say anything even when he brings out a leather gag. He only thinks that González most likely has a thing about leather, and that this information is worth nothing. “Do you want to give the  _signale_ now?” González asks, dark eyes boring into Fernando’s.

“No, my lord.”

“Good.” The smell of leather fills his nostrils and with his senses hyphened, it almost makes him sick. “If at any time you want to give the _signale_ , rap on the headboard and I will hear you.”

He knows that he will not give the  _signale_ . It is the last resort, the only way to keep his pride.

And it’s the only thing that will remain of his pride after this night.

González makes use of everything Fernando remembers Aritz showing him the first time in Mandrake House. He is not naturally gifted in inflicting pain like those with Kusheline blood, but he had to be a diligent pupil once. He knows what to do with nipple clamps, hot wax and pincers, and hell, does he know what to do with his fingers.

“You are not allowed to come without my permission,” his lewd voice cuts through the sound of Fernando’s muffled screams.

Fernando tries to form the sentence, but all that the leather gag allows him is a pitiful whine. González smirks. “Can you come, is that what you’re asking me?”

Fernando tries his best to nod, with the collar digging painfully in his chin and his chest.

“No, you can’t.”

His legs and abdomen are shaking on their own volition. He doesn’t know how he keeps himself from disobeying, but he does. González slaps his ass cheeks a couple times. It doesn’t help much – quite the contrary.

“What does Simeone hope for, when he sends a whore like you? Who would ever be grateful for it?” he hisses. “No wonder that he isn’t the favorite of the court now, and he won’t be a favorite of the new court either.”

Fernando barely manages to catch his words, although he knows that they are important. González moves his fingers in and out a couple times before curling them again. Fernando's body jolts and he whines again, closing his eyes firmly.

“Do you want to come?” a low voice sounds right next to his ear.

He nods frenetically, trying to support his plea by at least half-articulated sounds.

“You can come.”

It’s all he needs to hear, dignity be damned. 

“Dirty little whore, aren’t you?” González laughs. 

Fernando wouldn’t answer even if he could. His lids weigh a ton. He can’t feel the scratching of the collar nor the clamps on his nipples, those are just small discomfort drowned in the sea of much greater pain.

He was a fool to think that González was done with him. When he feels the blunt head of his patron’s member at his abused hole, he whines in protest. But the only way out is the  _signale_ , and that is something this man doesn’t deserve.

In the middle of it, Kushiel’s chosen or not, his body refuses to take more. His mind clouds with red smoke and he remembers nothing more.

~ ~ ~

When he comes to, he is in his own bed and Daniel, Antoine and Simeone are all standing around him like a family gathered at the bed of a dying man. He feels a gentle touch on his forehead and then realizes that Antoine is pushing back the strands of his hair.

“What happened?” Simeone asks, looking over at Daniel.

“The man called upon me,” Daniel says and the disgust in his voice when he says ‘the man’ suggests that Lord González isn’t worth being named for him. “And I found Fernando on the bed, unconscious and...” he pauses and closes his eyes briefly. “Then he told me to take him away.”

Heavy silence fills the room. Fernando can feel the three pairs of eyes on him and he feels naked and vulnerable, although he is safe in his bed and a blanket is covering him up to the chin.

“It is my fault,” Daniel’s voice again cuts through the silence. “I let it happen. I failed you, and I deserve...”

“Leave it up to me to decide what you deserve,” Simeone stops him. “As far as I know, your task is to escort Fernando to his patron’s house and back, but I didn’t ask you to do anything more. You cannot enter his patron’s chambers with him, so you couldn’t have prevented anything that Lord González did there.”

Fernando takes a sharp breath. “I don’t know what he did,” he says and then panic overwhelms him and he covers his face. “I don’t know what he did to me after I...”

Someone touches him and he faintly perceives that Antoine has jumped onto the bed to comfort him. “I’m sure he didn’t do anything,” he whispers to him. “He would breach the contract if...”

“You don’t know him!” Fernando sobs, snuggling up to him, despite the other boy being much smaller. “Breaching a contract isn’t anything that would bother him. It’s a question of conscience, and he has none!”

He curls up into a ball and closes his eyes. His body is sore, but he almost doesn’t feel it. He feels like it wasn’t his body, but his mind that was violated. That time, those memories stolen from him.

He welcomes the darkness that engulfs him like an old friend.

~ ~ ~

When he wakes up again, it’s day. The curtains are drawn to keep the direct sunlight out, but a cool breeze is coming from them and the quiet chirping of birds in the trees is loud enough to let him know that the window is open.

When he looks to the side of the bed, his eyes meet Antoine’s.

“Hello,” Antoine smiles. “Do you feel better?”

Fernando nods. His body does feel better, as for his mind, he doesn’t think it ever feel better again. “How long did I sleep?”

“Almost three days,” Antoine says and hands him a glass of water. “We woke you up a couple times, but you probably don’t remember.”

Fernando shakes his head. Antoine smiles again. “Also, your friend was here to ask about you.”

Fernando blinks. “Sergio?”

Antoine nods. “He thought it strange that you didn’t come to see him for so long. Simeone talked to him. I could say he wasn’t too happy when he was leaving, but hopefully Simeone didn’t tell him who your patron was. I think he didn’t, because I haven’t heard of Lord González’ murder yet.”

“You’d hear about it already, had Sergio known,” Fernando gives a small smile.

A look of relief appears in Antoine’s face when he sees him smile. “You must be hungry,” he says.

He turns around and when he moves, the collar of his shirt slides down and reveals thin black lines in the shape of willow branches that Fernando doesn’t remember. The very top of Antoine’s now complete _marque_. Fernando reaches up to him and traces the lines with his fingers.

“When did it happen?” he asks.

“Last week. I would have shown you, but you were... I didn’t want to...”

_Pour salt in my wounds,_ Fernando thinks.

“And besides, not even Simeone has seen it yet,” Antoine says apologetically.

“Why haven’t you shown it to him yet?”

“He was worried sick about you and so mad about Lord González. It wasn’t the right moment for it.”

It isn’t a reproach, but Fernando still feels guilty. He took Antoine’s moment of happiness from him, only because he was stupid and played games he wasn’t strong enough to play.

“And also... something else happened.”

Fernando frowns. “What?”

“The King is dead,” Antoine says. “Iker wasn’t crowned yet, but...”

Fernando takes a sharp breath. “Is he here?” he asks. “Simeone?”

“Yes,” Antoine nods. “Do you want to see him?”

“Please,” Fernando nods. “I need to tell him what I still remember, before it slips from my mind.”

Antoine gets up and disappears through the door. A while later, a servant walks in, bringing a tray with food. On his way out, he crosses Simeone in the door. Simeone closes the door after him and walks over to Fernando's bedside.

“So?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” Fernando whispers.

Simeone raises his brows. “You are sorry? I should be sorry, Fernando, for asking this from you.”

“But I chose this patron,” Fernando objects. “And I made him angry on purpose, because I thought I’d draw more secrets from him.”

“And did you? Draw any secrets from him?”

“I don’t know,” Fernando whispers. “I know for sure that he knows something. He said that it was no wonder you weren’t the favorite of the court now, and that you wouldn’t be a favorite of the new court either.”

“This is what he said?” Simeone asks with interest. “He said _the new court_?”

“Yes. Does it mean that he had something to do with the King’s death?” Fernando whispers.

Simeone shakes his head slowly. “No. The King was old and ill for quite some time. His death was imminent. But it probably means that Lord González knows a lot about what the future of this country should look like.”

“If it helps, I could...” Fernando starts, but Simeone raises his hand to stop him.

“You are not seeing him again. And he wouldn’t have the audacity to make you an offer anymore.”

Fernando gives a small smile. “Does he fear your wrath?”

“Not as much as Marquis de Silva’s wrath, I would say,” Simeone answers wryly. “Marquis de Silva somehow found out about what happened, and to say that he was upset with Lord González’ conduct would be an euphemism. It seems that he is quite protective of you, however oddly that sounds.”

“And Daniel...” Fernando starts and bites his lip. “You haven’t dismissed him, have you?”

Simeone raises his brows. “I thought it would only make you happy.”

Fernando shakes his head slowly. “No, I...”

“I haven’t dismissed him. He insisted on me punishing him, but I’m not good enough with punishments, I’m afraid. My weapons have always been words.”

“So what did you do?”

“I sent him to his prefect. The prefects know better of punishments. When he came back, as much as I can say, he looked at least calmer.”

“Can I talk to him?” Fernando asks.

Simeone nods and gets up. He walks out of the room, closing the door again. Fernando eats a bit of fruit and bread in the meanwhile, and takes a sip of wine. When the door opens, he looks up. Daniel is standing at the doorstep, his eyes lowered like he cannot bear to look at Fernando.

“Daniel.” Fernando throws away the blanket and although he can’t be sure that his legs will support his weigh, he gets up from the bed and walks over to him. “Look at me.”

Daniel lifts his eyes and looks at him. Fernando catches himself searching for bruises or other marks, but the prefects of Cassiel aren’t the priests of Kushiel. Their punishments aren’t carried out with whips.

“What happened wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me not anyone else. On the contrary. I owe you a lot,” he says.

“Why?” Daniel asks quietly.

“Because you taught me what it means to serve. Without you, I could never overcome what he did to me, but now I know it happened for a reason.”

“It taught us both a lesson,” Daniel whispers.

“Yes,” Fernando nods. “And maybe more than one.”

 


	13. Thirteen

It takes Fernando another two days before he musters up the courage to leave the house. Actually, Antoine persuades him to do so, and he knows that he can’t stay hidden forever.

It takes another great deal of courage to ask Daniel to ride with him, but for the first time, he feels like he will be safer in his company.

The city is still in mourning, the important buildings covered in rolls of black tissue, the flags lowered, and all people on the streets are wearing black or gray. They don’t spare him and Daniel a look as they are riding down the main street, but they still feel like they are being watched. The air is heavy with uncertainty and suspicion.

He finds the inn Sergio’s mother works in closed, so he runs up the side staircase and knocks on the door. The door opens slowly and Sergio’s face appears in the gap, his expression changing from anxious to surprised.

“Fernando!” he breathes out.

“Hi,” Fernando smiles.

Sergio locks the door. Fernando frowns. It’s not like there is anything to steal.

“The times are strange now,” Sergio murmurs. “You never know what could happen.”

“What do you mean?” Fernando asks.

“The King is dead and Iker hasn’t been crowned yet. And strange things have been happening around the city. There are whispers of people they found dead, murdered in the dark. Foreign messengers have been seen here, and there’s a word of spies at court. And if you want to know what I think about that...”

“Yes?” Fernando says with amusement and folds his arms, trying not to laugh at Sergio’s serious expression. “What do you think about it?”

“This has never happened here - until Prince Álvaro came here.”

Fernando laughs. “Except that I can’t imagine Prince Álvaro ordering anyone’s murder. He wouldn’t let a chicken be slaughtered for his dinner. I believe they have to tell him his food died of natural causes.”

Sergio doesn’t return the laugh. “There is only one thing separating him from the throne now. It’s almost within his reach. Nando, I could imagine  _you_ ordering someone’s murder in that case.”

“I don’t want the throne,” Fernando smiles. “I wouldn’t want it, ever. Sitting on it is even more dangerous than what I do.” 

“Yes,” Sergio admits. “And that is dangerous enough.”

He looks Fernando in the eyes and grabs him by the hand. “It was him who did it to you, wasn’t it?” he whispers. “That bastard, I told you he couldn’t be trusted...”

“Sergio!” Fernando interrupts him. “If you are talking about Marquis de Silva, it wasn’t him I was meeting that night.”

Sergio blinks. “It... wasn’t?”

“No. And I dare to say that he would never do... such thing.”

Sergio snorts. “You think highly of him.”

“Because he’s never done anything I wouldn’t agree to.”

“That’s the thing with nobles,” Sergio snorts. “You always think highly of them, until they prove you wrong.”

“Well, he’s not proven me wrong yet,” Fernando shrugs. “And I refuse to mistrust someone just because of the things people say about them. I’d have to mistrust myself then.”

Sergio shakes his head and then looks at Fernando again, narrowing his eyes. “So who was it?”

“I won’t tell you,” Fernando says resolutely. “Because you’d go and beat the crap out of him, I know you well enough to know you’d do it. And if we want to leave this city one day, you can’t be dead or in prison, Sergio.”

“That’s true,” Sergio admits, his face softening when Fernando mentions their future. “I just wish you didn’t have to do this.”

“Me too,” Fernando whispers. “But freedom is not that far now.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

When they return to Simeone’s mansion, it’s already dark outside. Fernando walks to his room and discards his cloak. The house is quiet, which is unusual at this hour. Simeone almost always has some visits, or he lingers in the salon with Fernando and Antoine.

Fernando decides to have some wine because the wine at the inn is only good enough to cook with, but certainly not safe to drink. He walks down the corridor and then stops in his track when he sees the light coming from Simeone’s study. The door is ajar and Fernando creeps closer like there is some force pulling him in.

Antoine is standing in front of the fireplace, the flames reflecting on one side of his face. He is facing Fernando, but even if Fernando wasn’t hidden in the shadows, he wouldn’t see him anyway. His eyes are focused on Simeone.

“You have to see my marque,” he says, and his voice sounds different than Fernando knows it. It’s not the quiet, shy tone he uses whenever they are discussing something, nor the soothing one he uses on Fernando every time he sees him hurt. This is an order spoken in a soft but adamant voice, and nobody of earthy origin would dare to say “no” to him. Perhaps not even the angels would. “So that the debt between us is concluded.”

“Yes,” Simeone says, and even his voice is different, lower and somewhat hesitant.

Antoine reaches for the ties on his shirt and then pulls it over his head. Then he turns around slowly, allowing both Simeone and Fernando to see the completed marque on his back.

It’s much different from Fernando's design, more delicate, with thinner lines and more shading to the willow branches than Fernando's briar rose has.

Simeone reaches up to touch it, and although Antoine is now turned away from him, Fernando can imagine the faint smile on his lips.

“Do you approve of it?” he asks.

“It’s exquisite,” Simeone replies.

Antoine turns around, not quite fully, just enough to look at him. Then he leans back so that his naked back touches Simeone’s velvet coat, and he tilts his head and kisses him. Fernando cannot look away. He knows that he should, for his own sake, but the sight is mesmerizing.

“Do you really want to...” Simeone whispers, his fingers tracing the black ink lines on Antoine’s skin.

“I want to,” Antoine says and tugs on the lapels of his coat. “I’ve always wanted to.”

Fernando turns away and tiptoes back to his room. He spends the night crying in his pillow and he doesn’t even know why.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando knows that he should not take assignations out of spite, even more after what’s happened when he did it last time, but he does it anyway. He accepts Marquis de Silva’s offer, sending a messenger to him with both dread and excitement.

Usually, he doesn’t see his patrons before the actual assignation, but Marquis de Silva always comes in person to sign the contract. He is dressed in gold and black again, the colors of his house, and he looks beautiful and menacing at the same time. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Fernando mumbles when the scribe pulls out the pre-written contract.

“I want it all to be fair,” David smiles. He’s dressed in black and gold again, the colors of his house. Also, Fernando notes that he looks somewhat tired. 

“What you did last time at the banquet wasn’t fair,” Fernando says quietly. “You had no right.”

David laughs softly. “I gave you a gift and you accuse me of committing a crime,” he says. “I am only showing you who you truly are. It’s not my fault that you are afraid to accept it.”

“I’m not afraid,” Fernando retorts.

“You haven’t proved that to me yet,” David says calmly. 

Fernando shakes his head and returns to reading the contract. His hand trembles when the tip of his quill comes close to the word  _flechettes_ .

He doesn’t cross it off.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When he enters Mandrake House, he doesn’t feel the dread he used to feel before. Now he almost feels like this is his ultimate shelter. The only place where people understand who he is, as much as someone not hit with Kushiel’s dart can understand.

Aritz raises his brows when he sees him, but he doesn’t say anything, letting Fernando begin on his own.

“I accepted a patron’s offer and I agreed with him using _flechettes_ ,” Fernand says. “And now I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“And?” Aritz prompts him.

“I mean... I should know... if I were in a House, someone would tell me if I were ready, but how do I know that I am?”

“You actually choose your patrons,” Aritz points out. “That already makes you different from other Naamah’s servants, and yet you are not that different. ”

Fernando rolls his eyes. “If you tell me the purpose of my life is to serve and to worship, I am leaving.”

Aritz laughs shortly. “Don’t mind Ander,” he says. “I think he’d be happier as a priest of Kushiel than his mere servant. Only I’d fear not many would survive the chastisements he’d give.”

Fernando shivers. He’s heard of Kushiel’s priests, those that wear bronze masks and black robes and flog the worshippers for atonement before dousing the wounds with salt water. He can imagine Ander do just that, and the image terrifies him and excites him at the same time. Then he notices that Aritz is looking at him.

“Sometimes you scare me,” Aritz mutters.

They walk inside one of the large halls. Mandrake House has plenty of them, like they prefer large and empty spaces to the small, warm and comfortable rooms Fernando remembers from Cereus. In the corner of the hall, Fernando sees Ander and another dark-haired man, quietly discussing something. Kusheline blood and Kushiel’s dart aside, Fernando can’t quite take his eyes from the other man. He looks composed and his movements are fluid but calculated. Fernando is sure that this man would make him feel the pain he’s never known before, and that he would entrust his life in his hands gladly.

“Who is it?” Fernando whispers.

“Andoni?” Aritz smiles. “One of the Masters of the House.” 

“I suppose Ander would love to become a Master as well,” Fernando smirks.

“Who wouldn’t?” Aritz raises his brows. “Only one in thirty novices that ever enter our house attains that title, so it is a great honor. Besides, if you want to ask about _flechettes_ , Andoni would be able to give you the best answers. He is one of the best in this art. And Ander is his dutiful apprentice.”

Fernando doesn’t have any reason to doubt it, because although Ander can always sense his presence before he even sees him, now he doesn’t even lift his head, despite Fernando being a dozen steps away from him. Instead, he watches intently as Andoni wraps a rope around his wrists, giving it a tentative tug when Andoni’s done. Andoni points something out to him and Fernando can practically see the moment of enlightening flash in his eyes and for the first time, he sees Ander smile. They barely speak, but there is some mutual understanding between them, like the adepts and Masters of Mandrake house think the same way and don’t need to speak to know what the other has to say.

“You missed out on this when Simeone bought your bond, you know,” Aritz muses. “The education you got was more or less theoretical. And delivered by someone who knows nothing about these things. This is why you suffer now.”

“I don’t suffer!” Fernando retorts.

“Oh,” Aritz smiles and raises his brows. “Why are you here, then?”

“I told you, I...”

“Nobody will tell you if you are ready or not,” Aritz says and nods towards a small door partly hidden behind a curtain. “Here, when an adept can snuff out a candle using a whip, split a peach in half with a riding crop, they are ready. But are they ready to use the whip or the crop on a patron? Who will tell them that, Fernando?”

“Who?” Fernando asks.

“Only they can tell,” Aritz says, closes the door and walks to a heavy wooden chest. “And only you can tell yourself.”

He unlocks the chest and pulls out a velvet pouch. He unrolls the tissue and Fernando gulps. The flechettes glint coldly in the candlelight. “To allow someone to use them on you is the sign of ultimate trust,” Aritz says.

“But what if you are an adept and you didn’t choose your patron?”

“Then it’s the sign of the Dowayne’s trust. They wouldn’t allow a patron to use _flechettes_ on their adepts unless they had a recommendation,” Aritz explains and looks at Fernando. “Do you trust your patron enough to do it?”

Fernando gulps. “I... think so.”

“Do you think your patron knows how to use them?”

“You said that he does.”

Aritz laughs shortly and then reaches for a peach in a bowl that stands on the table. He picks up one of the knives and starts peeling it. The fluffy skin of the fruit falls on the table in a perfect spiral, thin and unbroken. The flesh underneath bears no traces of the knife.

“The point of the _flechette_ is not to injure, it’s pain,” Aritz says. 

“But they could kill,” Fernando says bluntly.

“They could open a vein, of course, they could,” Aritz smiles. “They could kill, but so could your bare hands. You could kill without touching someone as well. Poison, or arrow. Do not fear the weapon, Fernando, fear the man. And if you fear him, then what you are giving him you aren’t giving willingly.”

Fernando nods slowly. He understands now, understands that what happened in Raúl González’ house wasn’t entirely his fault, but he could have stopped it. He had the right to stop it and he chose not to.

“Your _signale_ doesn’t equal your pride,” Aritz says. “It is meant to protect you, it is not a prize to be won. Neither by you nor your patron. Don’t forget about this.”

Fernando nods, but deep inside he wonders why he’s not able to think like this. Perhaps he is indeed different. And perhaps it’s not good for him.

 

~ ~ ~

 

This time, Daniel accompanies him only to the main hall of David’s house. David has given no instructions on where Daniel should wait this time, and Fernando decides to spare him the embarrassment, although he would prefer to have him closer, especially after his latest experience. This is not the same house and not the same person, but Fernando still feels uneasy.

“I’m here,” Daniel says and it’s all the reassurance Fernando needs. He nods and follows a servant down the corridor to David’s chambers.

This time he knows what to do. He kneels down the moment the door closes behind the servant girl.

“Fernando,” David says softly and walks up to him in measured steps. 

He is not dressed like Fernando remembers him from the balls and official visits. He is dressed to feel comfortable, in loose pants and silk shirt.

“Get up,” he says. 

Fernando lifts his eyes in surprise.

“I said get up,” David repeats slowly, and Fernando knows it would be bad not to obey this time.

He scrambles to his feet, looking around confusedly.

“You’ll join me for dinner,” David says casually and points to a door. He turns around when he doesn’t hear Fernando following him. “Is anything wrong?”

“No... no, my lord, I just thought...”

“You thought I had no self-control?” David chuckles. “Oh, Fernando, I have that in abundance. You don’t want me to show you.”

He nods towards the dining room in almost a friendly manner and Fernando follows him. He doesn’t really understand what is going on but decides to just go with it.

“Just take it like I want to let you stew for a while,” David says with a smile when a servant pours them wine. 

Now Fernando is sure that it is not about that at all.

“May I ask you something?” he asks then, while they are waiting for the first course.

“Another secret you want to know?” David smiles. “Is Simeone that interested in me?”

“It’s not a secret for him,” Fernando says. “It’s one for me.”

“Go on, then.”

“Simeone mentioned that one time you breached a contract,” Fernando says and looks at him. “What happened?”

David smiles, somehow nostalgically. “It’s been a long time. I was young and a bit naïve.”

Fernando can’t imagine David as a naïve boy. He can’t actually imagine him as a boy.

“I was just discovering what was in my blood, I would say, and the stories I’ve heard from my older cousins were... well, they made me expect more than I could get, I would say. Of course, I know now that they exaggerated, the way young men do when they are together and boasting about their experiences, but as I said, I was a naïve boy. I believed them, and I wanted to have all that myself.” David smiles and drinks a bit of wine. “Am I boring you yet?”

“No,” Fernando blurts out. “Not in the slightest.”

“So I went where all the boys thirsting for knowledge go. To Valerian house.”

Fernando looks at him over his cup. “Was it a he or a she?”

David laughs. “It was a she. It’s strange because this is a rather important event of my life, but if you killed me I couldn’t remember her name... maybe because at that time, I didn’t think it would be important.”

Fernando keeps watching him, waiting for every change in David‘s face. His thoughts reflect in his face so easily that Fernando wonders how he keeps all his secrets.

“Well, and then I had the girl, and I understood that my cousins lied. That it was all merely a game, and they promised me something different. I wanted it to be real, I wanted her to stop playing... so I didn’t stop even when she gave the _signale_.”

Fernando feels the dread in the core of his spine. “What happened then?” he asks in a small voice.

“I paid the price,” David shrugs. “I paid to the Dowayne of Valerian house with money, and I atoned in the temple of Kushiel.”

Fernando's lips tremble. “You mean...”

“The priests of Kushiel are very thorough in their punishments,” David smiles. “But it served me well. I learned that every mistake had consequences. Not quite the knowledge people of noble blood are born with.” 

He gets up and walks around the table. “Do you understand now why I enjoy your company?” he asks quietly.

“Because I don’t play games,” Fernando whispers. “Because with me, it’s real.”

“Yes,” David nods. “With you, it’s real.” Then he leans closer to Fernando, so close that Fernando is drowning in the blackness of his eyes. “I know what happened at González’ house,” he says. “And I want you to know that I would never do such thing to you. Never. Do you trust me?”

Fernando takes a sharp breath and then nods. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Good,” David smiles and returns to his place. “I think it’s time for the main course, isn’t it?”

Fernando returns the smile and for the first time that night, he relaxes.

 

 


	14. Fourteen

When David leads him in his bedroom, Fernando feels the dread returning. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to do this again, but it’s like David can sense it. His touches are almost comforting.

“I thought you said that you trusted me,” he notes while tying a silk rope around Fernando’s wrists. 

“I-I do,” Fernando whispers.

“Oh,” David grins and Fernando can’t help but marvel at how beautiful he is in this playful mood of his, how different. “So you are trembling out of… anticipation?”

“Well, in these times…” he says, fighting to keep at least a bit of self-control. “Don’t I have a right to be worried? Aren’t these strange times? All the mysterious murders in the City…”

“Mysterious murders?” David looks at him, amusement lighting up his eyes so that they look like a starry night sky to Fernando. “Says who? Your friend Sergio?”

Fernando blinks. “How do you know about Sergio?” he asks, a hint of panic in his voice.

David laughs heartily. “How do I know about Sergio? Oh, Fernando, everyone in the City knows your friend. He is not really an inconspicuous person, I’m afraid. He is not even trying to be.”

He moves, nudging Fernando’s knees apart and kisses him. Fernando’s mind clouds immediately and he knows that it won’t be long before he loses this fight.

“And is he right?” he breathes out when David lets go of him.

“How would I know?” David raises his brows. “I told you that I didn’t want to play games, Fernando. Stop playing with me. You know that I wouldn’t tell you anything even if I knew.”

Fernando is sure that he _does_ know, that he knows more about this than he lets show, because everyone in the City is worried. That David is not means that he knows he has nothing to worry about. 

“In any case, I don’t want to murder you.” David gets up and walks behind him. Fernando tenses again when he feels him touch his bare back. “Your _marque_ is almost complete,” David states in a conversational tone of voice, like Fernando is not naked and hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. “One or two more assignations and your debt is paid. Have you thought of what to do next?”

“I’ve been thinking about that since I started serving Naamah, my lord,” Fernando says.

“If you wanted to continue serving your true master, I have no doubt that you would be in high demand.”

“I have no intention to do that, my lord.”

He hears David’s low chuckle behind him and he strains his neck to look at him. David is standing by the wall, looking at him like he is admiring a piece of art. “I should cherish this night, then, as it is most probably our last one. Make it special.”

“I didn’t cross out the _flechettes_ ,” Fernando breathes.

“I know you didn’t,” David says calmly. “Would they make it special to you?”

“I am here to please you, my lord,” Fernando says. “Anything that will please you…”

“Oh, stop talking like a stupid whipping boy from Valerian,” David interrupts him. “Only if you are pleased, I am pleased, because that’s how it’s done. But, unless your last patron is exceptionally skilled, you might never experience the pleasure _flechettes_ can make you feel, and that would a shame.”

He walks over to a chest in the corner of the room and unlocks it. He pulls out several things, among which a stack of letters and parchments, before a velvet pouch makes an appearance. Fernando’s eyes are fixed on a letter with a broken seal, a seal which he’s never seen, so he almost startles when David touches his back again. 

“What was your _signale_ again?” he ask quietly. “Sunshine?”

“Yes, but I never give it,” Fernando replies.

Although he doesn’t see David smile, he hears it in his voice. “Tonight, dear, you might.”

The cold steel blade touches the back of his neck, sliding down his spine until it stops in between his shoulder blades. He guesses that it’s where the last line of his _marque_ ends. He tries to imagine it after tonight, when he will pay the artist to do the final rosebuds, and then only the rest of branches and thorns will remain.

The tip of the blade digs into his skin, making him jump up. “Don’t escape me,” David whispers.

The blade is so sharp that he barely feels it when it first drags over his skin. The pain only comes seconds later, with the blood pouring out. It would be nothing, had it been done quickly, but David is no surgeon - painlessness isn’t what he’s after.

Fernando feels the tears flowing, dripping down his chin, but his body is on fire and he doesn’t want it to end. 

“I’d love to hear that word from your mouth, Fernando,” David says and kisses him on the jawline, wetting his lips with Fernando’s tears. “Say it for me, will you?”

Fernando feels the blade resting against his nipple and he chokes back a sob. David waits for a while, then trails with the blade down Fernando’s stomach, approaching his loins.

“Will you?”

“ _Sunshine_ ,” Fernando breathes out in panic.

“Good,” David smiles and steps away, putting the knife back in the velvet pouch. Then he unties Fernando’s hands and almost gently guides him to the bed. When he lies back and scrambles to a better position, he notices the droplets of blood soaking into the white satin sheets. 

“Do you want me even tonight?” David asks with a mischievous smile. “Or was this enough?”

Fernando almost wants to curse him off, because one short look at him could tell David that it clearly _wasn’t_ enough, but this is a part of the game. “No,” he whispers. “No, my lord, I want you, please, I need…”

David smiles and takes off his shirt, sending a faint whiff of cinnamon in Fernando’s direction. Fernando gets on all four, ready to lie down, when David stops him. “No. On your back.”

Fernando complies, feeling the wave in his loins rise higher. David’s body covers his, the contact of heated skins almost making him come otherwise untouched, and when David enters him, he arches his back, realizing that David didn’t prepare him at all, but he doesn’t really mind. 

“Keep your eyes open,” David says, and doesn't start moving until Fernando complies, fixing his gaze on David’s face and marveling at his composure. He is close, impossibly close. “Say it once more, say the word once more for me, will you?”

Fernando moans desperately, trying to get just a little bit more friction.

“Will you?”

“Sunshine,” Fernando chokes out when he feels David’s hand on him, coming in waves, as hard as he’s never come in his life, and a red veil covers his eyes and he his ears are full of strange noise, like he hears bronze wings beating against the wind. He remembers the sound from Mandrake House, and now he lets it lull him until he can no longer keep his eyes open.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando still remembers the time he passed out in Raúl González’ bedroom, but this is different. This is the blissful darkness that feels safe. It muffles the sounds and makes him feel like he is floating in the sea of pain.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” David’s voice says and it sounds like he is far away, almost in another world.

Fernando tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids feel heavy. But he senses someone’s presence in the room. There is someone who wasn’t there before and Fernando feels the cold fingers of dread crawling up his spine, but the voices never draw nearer, there are no steps. Whoever is in the room with David, they stay well away from the bed.

“He is,” the voice says.

“Too bad you are not into this art,” David says. His voice is low, like he is only murmuring in the stranger’s ear.

“I wasn’t born with your blood,” the stranger chuckles. “And I appreciate you trying to teach me these things, but my attempts were more than pitiful.”

“I know,” David says, but there is no disdain in his voice. “You were born to do other things. Greater things.”

Finally, Fernando’s curiosity that Simeone instilled in him over the years, wins over. With great effort, he unglues his eyelids. In the moment that he manages to keep his eyes at least half-open, before darkness overcomes him for good, he sees David kissing a dark-haired man, and no matter how clouded his mind is, he would swear on his life that this man, whoever he is, means the world to David.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Daniel is waiting at the entrance when the servant girl sees Fernando out. He is barely walking, but he is strangely alert. There is a heavy pouch with coins in his hand and he catches himself thinking about how big a portion of his _marque_ he will be able to afford. Maybe he will really need only one more assignation. 

Daniel helps him get in the carriage and then knocks on the wall to let the coachman know that they are ready.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

The cuts have already stopped bleeding, as they were all superficial, and most of them are covered by clothing now, so Daniel probably only asks for good measure.

“Yes,” Fernando nods. “Listen… when you were waiting for me… didn't you see someone?”

“Like… who?” Daniel frowns.

“A man,” Fernando says. “A dark-haired man. Didn’t you see him come in, or come out?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I only saw the servants, and all were girls,” he says. “Why? Who was that man?”

“I don’t know,” Fernando mumbles. “But he was in the bedroom.”

“You mean that he…”

“No!” Fernando blurts out quickly before Daniel can start blaming himself. “No, he didn’t touch me, he… Forget it. I’m not even sure if he was real.”

“What do you mean?” Now Daniel doesn’t seem to be concerned for Fernando’s safety, but for his mental health.

“I was half-conscious when I saw him. Who knows, maybe my mind played tricks on me.”

Daniel raises his brows but doesn’t say anything. As they are passing through the dark streets, they notice people sweeping them and throwing rose petals and mint leaves on the roads. 

“The coronation is tomorrow,” Fernando says.

“Yes,” Daniel nods. “It’s high time the kingdom had its king again. With the Skaldi constantly threatening our borders…”

“The problem is that while the Skaldi tribes are now united under this… Robert… Iker’s coronation will divide this kingdom,” Fernando sighs. “Half of the country would rather see Álvaro on the throne.”

“Iker’s brought this onto himself,” Daniel shrugs. “He lets Álvaro show off here, because he’s probably glad that someone else is in the spotlight, but as the future king, he should try to win the hearts of his people, not let a stranger do it. He should have sent him back home a long time ago. Hospitality should have its limits.”

Fernando smiles. “You also think like Simeone now,” he says. “And I thought he only taught Antoine and me.”

Daniel returns the smile, albeit a stiff one. “I was trained in combat since I was a boy. We didn’t do much thinking. This service is refreshing.”

“So you enjoy it?” Fernando smiles mischievously.

Daniel averts his eyes. “I’m not complaining,” he says finally.

Fernando laughs shortly, then leans back in the cushions and closes his eyes. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

When they arrive, Antoine is just coming out from Simeone’s study. Fernando would like to avoid him, but it’s too late to pretend he didn't see him.

“I was… we were discussing tomorrow’s coronation,” Antoine smiles.

“You don’t have to play this game,” Fernando says tiredly. “I know about you and Simeone.”

Antoine blinks. “You… know?” 

“Yes.”

Antoine just keeps looking at him, and it makes it all worse. The rational part of Fernando knows that Antoine has nothing to apologize for, because no one should ever apologize for love. But the other part of him is screaming in the torment of jealousy, because Antoine has it all, he’s always had it all. He lost his parents, same as Fernando, but he lost them to war while Fernando’s parents sold him to Cereus House to feed the other children they had. Antoine’s always been loved and cherished and praised by someone. Fernando was the odd one in his House, worth only selling again, and he is the second one here as well - perhaps loved and appreciated, but not as much as Antoine.

“You don’t need to worry,” Fernando says quietly. “I only need my last assignation to complete my _marque_ , and then I’ll leave.”

“But… Fernando,” Antoine says gently and takes his hand. “Nobody wants you to leave. Diego would never ask you to… and I don’t want you to go either.”

Fernando takes a sharp breath. This is the hardest part, Antoine’s innocence and his good heart. He never wants anyone to get hurt, but it’s his mere existence that hurts Fernando. “I know,” he says. “But I’ve planned this since the very beginning. We’ve always wanted to leave with Sergio, so…”

Antoine smiles. “I wouldn’t want you to think that you have to leave because of me,” he says. “But if you want to go… I’ll be happy when you are.”

Fernando nods shortly. “And I am happy for you,” he says slowly. “You deserve it. It’s always been your place, your destiny. I could never take it from you. And I’ve never really wanted to.”

Antoine keeps looking at him for a while and then kisses him on the cheek before retiring to his room. Fernando sighs and then looks at the pouch with money he’s received that night, wondering whether they will buy him happiness as well.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando meets Sergio on the outskirts of the City. He was quite surprised to learn that Simeone and Antoine weren’t going to watch Iker ride through the City before his coronation, but Simeone thought there was nothing interesting about it, and Antoine has always disliked big crowds.

But for Sergio, it’s interesting for many reasons, so Fernando can count on him.

The procession appears on the bridge leading from the palace to the heart of the City. Sergio grabs his hand and leads him skillfully through the crowd. Fernando can’t be quite sure, but he thinks that a couple times he’s noticed Sergio’s hand dart in and out of someone’s pocket. 

They climb the wooden staircase leading to a terrace of some inn, above the heads of the cheering crowd, right in time to see the riders approaching. 

“Look,” Fernando whispers to Sergio. 

“I’m looking,” Sergio says.

“No, not at the princes,” Fernando says. “Look at the people.”

Sergio frowns and looks at the crowd. “And?”

“They don’t even see Iker,” Fernando sighs. “They are all looking at Álvaro.”

And indeed, while Iker is riding in the front and the crowd bows in reverence to him, it’s Álvaro they notice more. He waves somewhat shyly to the children running around, trying to touch his horse or his cloak, and then a girl throws a rose to him. He catches it gracefully, smells it and bows slightly to her. The girl’s cheeks turn bright red and she tries to disappear in the flock of other girls surrounding her, giggling.

“Who is that man over there?” Sergio asks, pointing to one of the men accompanying the two princes.

“José Mourinho,” Fernando says. “He’s often present at court, although nobody knows what he actually does. They say he’s some grey eminence.”

“Grey what?” Sergio looks at him.

“It means that he’s pulling the strings to get what he wants, but nobody ever catches him,” Fernando smiles. 

“Oh. And what does he want?”

“Who knows?” Fernando shrugs. “I’m not that much in contact with people who attend the court. Antoine is.”

“Except Marquis de Silva,” Sergio makes a face.

“Yes, but he won’t tell me anything,” Fernando sighs. “He acts like he knows nothing, although we both know that he knows everything.”

“Then why do you keep seeing him?” Sergio frowns. 

Fernando opens his mouth, but suddenly he doesn’t know what to answer. Sergio is right. He knew since the very beginning that he would get no information from David, and information is what he is after, or should be after. So what exactly made him return to David’s house?

“Fernando?” Sergio asks and Fernando can see the hurt already showing in his eyes, and he wants to tell him that he feels nothing for David, that it’s just business, just his service to Naamah, but he would be lying. 

Finally he understands what Ander meant when he told him that they served Kushiel first. And David is a descendant of Kushiel, if the legends are true. His blood is what attracts him, stronger than duties or feelings. Even Ander’s blood, much more diluted over ages, has that power over him. How could he fight blood as pure as David’s?

“Sergio,” he breathes out, but Sergio is already turning away, dashing to the stairs. “Sergio, wait!” 

He only manages to catch up with him in front of the door leading to the inn. 

“Sergio, you don’t understand…”

“No,” Sergio says. “You are right. I don’t understand. My mother was right.”

“Right about what?” Fernando frowns.

“About us. I am a Tsingano. You are D’Angeline. You serve angels that don’t speak to me. I’ll never understand.”

Then he turns around and disappears in the crowd, leaving Fernando stand in the middle of crushed rose petals and confetti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'Angelines are the people of Terre d'Ange who are literally descended from fallen angels. They gave many gifts to the people, most prominently incredible beauty. In the books, Terre d'Ange is the equivalent of France, but I kind of merged it with Spain here (in the books, Spain is called Aragonia and Euskerria is the equivalent of Basque Country).
> 
> The Tsingano people are inspired by the Roma people, they are mostly travelers and they have their own specific beliefs, although they don't really refuse the religion of D'Angelines, but the "religious prostitution" isn't something they'd do or really understand.


	15. Fifteen

The appointment with the artist doing his _marque_ is the only thing that brings some light into Fernando’s life. He’s glad to leave the house, as witnessing Antoine’s and Simeone’s happiness when his own vision of happy future has just collapsed is a constant mental torture. Every portion of his _marque_ that he gets done gets him closer to freedom, but suddenly he isn’t looking forward to it as much as he used to. So he focuses on the pain of hundreds of tiny needles piercing his skin instead.

“Almost done,” the artist says when the session ends. He doesn’t comment on Fernando’s obvious arousal, nor on his constant fidgeting. Sometimes he slaps his buttocks when he fidgets too much, but this has become a part of the routine, some sort of an inner joke between them. “Only the final touches left.”

“I know,” Fernando sighs. “One assignment.”

“Shouldn’t you rejoice? Usually the adepts are all eager to start earning money for themselves, to become a part of their House.” 

“I have no House,” Fernando reminds him. “Perhaps if I did, it would be different, but when I get the _marque_ done, I’ll be free… but alone.”  

“With your gift…” the artist raises his brows. “You could get rich in no time. Move to Kusheth, and you’ll be able to buy yourself a palace in weeks.”

“I have no intention to move to Kusheth, nor to sleep with people for money anymore,” Fernando retorts. “I’ll leave that to other people.”

The artist shrugs, turns around and starts putting away the ink bottles.  

“What?” Fernando asks.

“Nothing,” he says. “Only that people who tried to defy their destiny always brought tragedy upon themselves. You were born with that red thing in your eye for a reason. I’m not sure that you can ignore it.”

“I’m not sure about that either,” Fernando sighs.

 

~ ~ ~

 

When he comes back, he almost bumps into Simeone, who seems to be on his way to the stables.

“You have a visit,” Simeone smiles. “He’s waiting in the salon.” 

Fernando’s face lights up. “Sergio?” he asks. 

“No,” Simeone shakes his head. “Francesc.”

Fernando nods meekly. He feels stupid for getting his hopes up like that. Over the past few weeks, he’s been looking for Sergio almost every day. He could never find him in the inn nor around the marketplace, but he asked around and he knew for sure that Sergio didn’t leave the City. He was simply always a few steps ahead of Fernando and knew his ways to avoid him.

He enters the salon where Francesc seems to be occupied with the tray with food. 

“Fernando!” he exclaims when he spots him. “I was almost afraid you wouldn't come back!”

“Where else would I go?” Fernando asks bitterly and sits in the armchair. “Why have you come to see me?”

“I have an offer for you,” Francesc says and pours himself some wine. “What would you say if your last assignation was… me?”

Fernando almost chokes on nothing but air. Francesc was his teacher, he taught him all he had to know about his service to Naamah, and he can’t imagine…

“Not me as in… really _me_ ,” Francesc laughs when he sees Fernando’s face. “For Elua’s sake, I would never do that!” 

“Then what do you mean?” Fernando frowns. 

“I’m organizing a… _soirée_ , let’s say. For some friends. I will pay some adepts from the Night Court, and I wondered if you were interested as well. I would pay you enough to complete your _marque_.”

Fernando hesitates. It looks like a safe option. He trusts Francesc, and if other adepts are going to be there, it’s most likely going to be more playful and less political. He isn’t in the mood for thinking and being careful. 

“Yes,” he says. “I’m interested.” 

“Perfect!” Francesc says and rubs his hands together. “I’ll think everything through and then we can sign the contract.”

Fernando almost doesn't listen to him. He keeps replaying the times when they talked about this day with Sergio, about the day he would get his freedom and they would run away from the City together. Now it's lost its sense.  

Sergio is running away from him now. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

A few moments after Francesc has left, Antoine pokes his head in. 

“Diego isn’t here?” he asks. 

“No, he probably went to the City. He took a horse,” Fernando says absent-mindedly.

“That will be the secret business of his,” Antoine smiles. “I think he’s finally found out who invited Prince Álvaro here, and now he wants to confirm his suspicion.”

Fernando doesn’t say anything, and that catches Antoine’s attention. It’s always been Fernando, the curiouser one who wanted to know Simeone’s plans and secrets. 

“Something’s happened,” Antoine states and sits next to him. “You’ve been like this since the coronation.” 

Fernando shrugs. He knows that he can confide in Antoine, but he also knows that it will most likely not help him. 

“It’s Sergio,” he says. “We… had an argument. Or… we didn’t. He just got mad and disappeared.” 

“Why?” Antoine asks. 

“Because of Marquis de Silva,” Fernando sighs. “Sergio probably thinks that I’m in love with him, but I’m not. But I can’t explain to Sergio what I feel for him, and why I feel that way. He wouldn’t understand.”

Antoine frowns. “So he was all right with you being a servant of Naamah, but he isn’t that much all right with you being a servant of Kushiel as well?”

“Maybe,” Fernando sighs. “Or he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to give me what I need.”

“Pain or pleasure?” Antoine asks.

“It comes to me as one, you know that,” Fernando whispers.

“I do. I just think it’s a little bit… sad. That you never knew it the other way. That you never… made love.”

Fernando thinks of the day when he let Sergio touch his unfinished marque and his heart aches just a bit more. That day he thought that maybe he could one day love for real.

“Do you sleep with women because it doesn’t feel like you are cheating on Simeone?” he asks on sudden impulse.

Antoine looks at him with a mixture of disbelief and surprise. Then he laughs heartily. “No. I sleep with women because it feels nice. It’s different, but it’s nice. I feel safe, and cared for, and…”

“Does it excite you, to be with them?” Fernando asks and lifts his eyes to him. “Although you… prefer men?” 

Antoine doesn’t even blush. “It does give me pleasure, if that’s what you mean,” he says. “I love Diego, and if I served Naamah, it was for him. I wanted to give him the answers he was looking for. But it wasn’t an ordeal. I did it out of love. And that’s why I maybe loved each of those women a little bit. It’s not a bad thing.” 

“But I don’t know if I love Marquis de Silva, even a little bit,” Fernando sighs. “What I feel for him, I can’t control it.”

“There is so much we can’t control,” Antoine smiles. “That’s why we have to focus on those things we can control, and hold onto them.”

“But what is it?” Fernando whispers. “What in my life could I ever control?”

Antoine just caresses his hand comfortingly. Fernando gets up and almost runs to his room. He feels lonelier and more lost than ever, and he doubts that the freedom he is about to get can change anything about it.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The day of his last assignation comes almost too soon.

When they arrive at Francesc’s place, Daniel looks maybe more excited than Fernando, and Fernando thinks it’s because this is his last assignment, which means that also Daniel will be free tomorrow. And unlike Fernando, he seems to have his future clear. He can return to his temple or whatever the Cassiline Brotherhood calls it, and live his chaste life in peace there.

Francesc opens the door with a cup of wine in one hand and makes a nonchalant gesture with the other. “Welcome,” he says and puts his arm around Fernando’s waist. “Everyone’s waiting in the salon. They don’t know you’ll be here. You are my midnight surprise.”

“It’s not even close to midnight,” Fernando deadpans.

“A figure of speech,” Francesc narrows his eyes.

Fernando just shakes his head. The cup Francesc is holding is obviously not his first.

“You can wait with my guards,” Francesc tells Daniel. “I am sure it will be the best place for you to stay tonight.”

Daniel nods. Francesc’s respectful attitude almost surprises Fernando. He knows that Francesc tends to joke in the most inappropriate moments, and given his past he wouldn’t expect him to understand Daniel’s beliefs. 

“Have you invited the whole Court, Francesc?” Fernando asks when they enter the room.

“Not really, but I wanted to make sure that there would be a bit of everything,” Francesc smiles. “For every taste.”

“I’m sure that you achieved that,” Fernando notes, looking around. “I almost forgot you are from Camellia House. You have a penchant for perfection.”

“Francesc nó Camellia at your service, anytime,” Francesc laughs, grabs his hand and leads him around the room. “This is Isco, from Bryony House,” he says, introducing him to a dark-haired boy with a somehow mischievous smile. “Don’t gamble with him. Ever. Or you’ll never get your _marque_ done.”

Both Fernando and Isco laugh. Bryony house members are known for their passion for gambling, and they seldom lose any bets. They love money more than anything, which is why only the richest can usually afford their services.

“Also Camille from Bryony... maybe you recognize her?”

Fernando looks at the blonde girl and smiles. “The Sun Prince... or Princess?”

“Another Fernando, from Heliotrope,” Francesc smirks. “Another celebrity.”

The tall blond man gives him a wink and Fernando realizes that this is the one Prince Álvaro chose for his first assignation. 

“André and Diego, from Dahlia... and Bruno from Jasmine...” 

Fernando nods politely, letting himself be dragged behind Francesc. His mind is somewhere else and he only hopes for this to be worth the money.

“Marc and Melissa, I believe, you already know.” 

Fernando's face goes red when he recognizes the Couple from the Showing in Camellia House. Marc and Melissa laugh and if before they looked like lovers or best friends to Fernando, now they look more like siblings to him, although they are most likely not related at all. It makes it all even more awkward.

“As well as Felipe, from Cereus.”

“Nice to see you again,” Felipe smiles.

“Likewise,” Fernando says.

“And what will probably interest you the most... from Mandrake...” Francesc says and Fernando’s breath hitches. “Iago.”

The man raises a brow, fixing the red mote in Fernando's eye. “I’m honored,” he says.  

“I bet your companions will be mightily jealous of you after this night,” Fernando notes.

“I know at least one who will,” Iago smirks.

“Well,” Francesc jumps in and grins. “I’m sure our guests would like to see _what_ … whoever you were talking about… would be jealous of.”

Fernando raises his brows. “You mean…” 

“He means the two of us together,” Iago says flatly and leans closer. “He means the rich men and women here want to see me tie you up and whip you into oblivion.”

“Oh,” is all that Fernando manages to say.

Only then he realizes that he’s always done this in private, he was always alone with his patron. The other adepts are maybe used to parties like this, to other people watching them get intimate with someone, but for him it’s new. And he doesn’t know if he is ready for it.  

His eyes roam around the room. Marc and Melissa don’t seem to mind the people around at all, it’s almost like they are in their own world, its borders drawn inches from their entwinedbodies. The two adepts from Orchis are giggling playfully while entertaining some older men, and even Felipe, otherwise used to the tranquility of Cereus House, doesn’t mind the company.

Iago doesn't seem to mind either. His face is unreadable now, like this is more than a game, and Fernando can see the same devotion in his eyes as he remembers from Ander. And he also feels the bond between them now. They both serve the same lord. 

“ _Signale_?” Iago asks.

“Sushine,” Fernando replies. He wishes he could say that he never gives it, like he used to do, but it’s not true anymore. David took that from him, with a thousand other things. 

Iago nods and makes the first knot. The rope cuts in Fernando’s skin, just enough to make the hair at the back of his neck rise. Iago’s fingers are deft and quick, this is nothing but routine for him.  

“Ready?” he asks.

Fernando nods. When the whip licks his side, he almost smiles. This is the last time. He wants to savor it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the children in the houses are mostly orphans or they were given to the house by their parents, they adopt the name of their house as some kind of last name - they ad the "nó" (as "from/of") and the name of their house.


	16. Sixteen

When they leave Francesc’s house, Fernando is tired, but it’s the good way of being tired. Iago is a true adept of his House, he knows what to do, and with someone like Fernando it’s even easier to start the fire. He wishes they took the carriage and didn’t go on horseback this time, though.

When they are leaving the gates of the city, Fernando looks over to the inn. He is determined to go there tomorrow, wait until Sergio comes back, no matter how long it takes, and explain everything to him. He can tell him that Marquis de Silva might have meant something to him, that he couldn’t have helped it, with his blood and all, but he is free now, or will be free once he gets the rest of his _marque_ done, and then they can leave the City and they will never speak Marquis de Silva’s name again.

Simeone’s mansion appears on the horizon, and it’s then when Daniel reins up and Fernando does the same when he sees why. Something is moving around the house.

First it looks like a dark cloud or a flock of birds, but then it scatters and Fernando sees what it is. Riders, probably a dozen of them, riding fast towards the hills behind the house.

“No,” Daniel breathes out.

He starts towards the house so fast that Fernando has trouble keeping apace with him. But when they stop in the courtyard, they realize that they are too late anyway.

The house is eerily quiet and dark. No servants to be seen. Daniel draws his sword immediately, pushing Fernando behind him, although it doesn’t look like anyone is still in the house.

They find Simeone in the first floor. There are so many wounds on his body that it isn’t clear which one killed him; it doesn’t matter anyway. He is in his night dress, hair messy. No doubt he was already in bed when they came; he didn’t get farther than the corridor that led to the library.

_The library._

Fernando pushes Daniel out of his way and starts running towards the door that is wide open. In the house, they always close it. It’s an unwritten rule. 

Antoine is still dressed; he must have lost the track of time while reading. The heavy tomes of some history books are lying scattered all over as someone had overturned the reading table. There is no weapon in sight - obviously, he wouldn’t take one to the library. Fernando’s heart clenches. He was left at their mercy when they stormed in.

He kneels next to Antoine and takes his hand. Antoine’s eyelids flutter and he opens his eyes.

“Fernando…” he whispers.

Daniel appears next to Fernando, having put his sword back, and kneels down next to him. Antoine’s blue eyes look almost black, flooded with pain. A pool of dark blood has already formed under his body.

“Who was it?” Daniel asks.

“Soldiers, maybe. Too many…”

Fernando caresses his hair. He almost can’t bear to look at him, as it seems that even swallowing is painful for him, but he can’t leave him either.

“It was José Mourinho,” Antoine whispers. “The one that invited Álvaro here... he wants...”

Fernando leans closer to him because his voice is so weak he’s afraid he wouldn’t hear everything.

“Simeone… he found out… Iker… he needs to know…”

“What?” Fernando asks urgently. “What does he need to know?”

“Danger,” Antoine breathes out, his face contorted with pain. “The throne… is meant for… the prince of true blood.”

His hand goes limp in Fernando’s grasp and the pain smooths out from his face.

“Don’t go,” Fernando sobs and falls onto his body, shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t go, I need you!”

“Fernando,” Daniel’s voice sounds next to his ear. “Let go.”

Fernando shakes his head desperately.

“Let go of him,” Daniel repeats. “You won’t bring him back.”

“It’s not fair,” Fernando sobs. “It’s not fair!”

“We can’t stay here!” Daniel says. “If we stay here and do nothing, whoever killed them will get what they want!”

“I don’t know what to do,” Fernando says. “Without them, I don’t know what to do…”

“I know what we have to do,” Daniel says. “But I’ll need your help.”

“My help?”

“We have to talk to King Iker,” Daniel says resolutely. “And there is only one person that can get us to him.”

“Who?”

“Marquis de Silva.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando bangs on the door, praying to all angels that it’s not too late. It takes a while, but then a light appears in one of the windows, a flickering flame of a candle, and then the door opens, revealing a young servant girl, dressed hastily as they probably woke her up.

“Who are you?” she asks, holding the lantern in front of her like a shield. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk to Marquis de Silva,” Fernando says. “It’s very important.”

The sleepy servant looks at them with confusion.

“Please,” Fernando whispers. “He knows me, just tell him...”

“His Lordship isn’t here,” she says, still eyeing them a bit mistrustfully.

Fernando feels his heart sink. Daniel steps forward. “And do you know where we could find him?” he asks.

The girl blinks when she notices his grey robes, and then relaxes. She sees no threat in a Cassiline. “His Lordship is in Mandrake House,” she says and blushes. “And he will probably not come back until morning.”

“Thank you,” Daniel nods and turns to Fernando. “We have to hurry.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando shivers when they walk in the hall. He’s been to Mandrake House many times, but never at night. The place is even scarier now, illuminated by torches. Their steps resonate in the empty halls, every sound bouncing back from the bare walls. They pass the open door to the chapel with the altar and the giant bronze statue of Kushiel. For a fleeting moment, Fernando thinks that he sees something in the angel’s face, a warning or disapproval, but it’s gone before he can grasp it.

Finally they reach the private chambers. Fernando knocks on the door, praying for David to be there, because he can’t carry on alone, he needs someone to help him. Then the door opens and Fernando screams internally. There is Ander standing at the doorstep, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the dark fringe sticking to his forehead in wet strands. Fernando lowers his eyes immediately, because otherwise he couldn’t speak a word. “We need to talk to Marquis de Silva,” he says. “Please. It’s urgent. It’s a question of the Kingdom.”

Ander looks at Daniel with a derisive smirk, and then his eyes slide to Fernando. “Wait,” he barks and slams the door shut.

It takes a couple of minutes before the door opens again and a young boy runs out, half-dressed, his face still wet from tears and sweat. Before he can throw his shirt back on, Fernando sees his incomplete marque of the Valerian house, and the fresh welts and cuts on his back mixing with old scars. Then Ander appears again, looking slightly more presentable. “Come in,” he says.

Marquis de Silva is sitting in an armchair, looking by far the most composed out of everyone in the room. He looks at Fernando and Daniel and smiles. “What is so urgent that it denied the poor boy his deserved pleasure?” he asks in a lewd voice. “Unintentional torturers, better than Ander here, that’s what the two of you are.”

Daniel’s cheeks immediately get a red tint. Fernando takes a breath, but it hitches in his throat when he hears the familiar metallic sound. His eyes dart to the corner of the room where Ander is calmly putting the _flechettes_ back in their leather pouch. Fernando gulps. “My lord, you have to help us,” he blurts out then. “My lord Simeone and Antoine, they are... they are...”

“They are what?” David asks, the smile slowly leaving his face.

“They are dead, my lord,” Fernando whispers, willing himself not to start crying again. “Killed by José Mourinho’s men.”

David raises from his chair and there is something akin to worry in his eyes, although Fernando can’t see any compassion in them. It’s not like he expected it anyways.

“Mourinho wants to kill Iker and let Álvaro rule the kingdom,” Daniel says. “You have to stop him.”

David turns to Ander. “Leave us,” he says. “And... our guests look like they could use some tea to calm them down a little bit. See to that, will you?”

Ander bows to him, but this time he does it with reverence that Fernando's never seen him show to Valverde nor anyone else. Now he is bowing to his true lord.

“The whole world should learn from Kushelines in terms of loyalty,” David smiles when the door closes behind him, and beckons Fernando and Daniel to sit down. “Please, try to calm down and tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know...” Fernando blurts out. “I was at seigneur Fabregas’ house, he was holding a soirée and... when we got back, it was... everyone was dead.”

“Then how do you know who did it?” David asks, his eyes not leaving Fernando's even when Ander reappears with two cups of tea. “Did you see anyone?”

“N-no,” Fernando whispers. “Just from afar. But Antoine... he said it was...” His voice breaks and he takes a rattling breath, desperate to continue.

David stops him by lifting his hand. “Drink some tea,” he says. “Calm down.”

Fernando obeys, swallowing the hot, somehow bitter liquid. It warms him up, but he doesn’t feel calmer. Daniel sips his tea quietly next to him. He’s not good with words and David’s attention seems to be fully on Fernando anyway.

“He said it was Mourinho who invited Prince Álvaro here.”

“I see,” David nods. “Is that all?”

“All I know is that Mourinho probably isn’t alone... at least Raúl González knows about it as well, and... Mourinho will get rid of Iker, and when Álvaro gets the throne, he will rule through him...”

The sound of breaking porcelain interrupts him and Fernando turns his head just in time to see Daniel slide down from the chair. He moves to help him, but his body feels too heavy and his head is starting to spin. He understands now, looking at the cup of tea, remembering the bitter taste.

“That won’t happen, Fernando,” David smiles. “Mourinho believes that, but the throne is intended for someone else. And Mourinho won’t rule through that person. I will.”

Fernando looks over his shoulder at Ander, who is watching the scene calmly. Only then he understands the true meaning of David’s order and the remark about loyalty, and he knows who poured in whatever was in the tea.

David makes a small gesture and Ander disappears through the door again, like he was never there.

“I never wanted this to happen,” David says quietly. “Not this way. But I have to protect those who are dear to my heart and whose secrets I hide.”

_The Prince of true blood._ Finally Antoine’s last words make sense.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Fernando asks, his own voice sounding distant and foreign. “The man in your rooms. It was... the lost prince.”

David’s eyes darken and he caresses Fernando's brow above the marked eye. “You know too much for your own good, my dear,” he whispers. “Too much for me to leave you alive.”

The words don’t scare him as much as they should. It feels like his life is already over anyway. He’s lost everything tonight, and the last hope of salvation was shattered now.

“But what when Álvaro gets the throne?” he asks.

“Accidents happen. People disappear.” David smiles condescendingly when he sees Fernando's shocked face. “I know what you think. Poor boy, right? I like him too. I promise you he won’t suffer.”

He looks around and then gets up, walking behind Fernando. Fernando is fighting to stay awake. If he’s to die, he wants to know why, he wants to fully understand. He looks at Daniel’s body on the floor. He cannot tell if he’s dead or not. Something tells him that David isn’t a poisoner.

“Your men killed Simeone and Antoine, then?” he asks as David strokes his cheek almost gently.

“I have no men, you know that,” David says calmly. “Certainly not here in the City. No, I wouldn’t want anything to tie me to that pitiful event… Nor to your death.”

“You can’t kill me,” Fernando breathes out, his mind clouding even more. His limbs are numb and heavy. “You won’t kill me. A descendant of Kushiel wouldn’t hurt Kushiel’s chosen. You’d risk thousands years of damnation.”

David laughs shortly. “You are right. I can’t. And I don’t want to. Otherwise I would have had you killed tonight, too. I have something else in mind for you.”

If David decides to reveal his plan, Fernando doesn’t hear any of it. When darkness finally engulfs him, he doesn’t know whether it’s for the better or for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you about Silva, didn't I?


	17. Seventeen

Fernando wakes up from cold. He doesn’t remember when he’s last felt this cold. When he opens his eyes, all he can see in the dim light is some canvas above his head. Then he realizes that the floor is moving and that he must be in a wagon of some sort. 

Memories hit him like a flood. The drugged tea David gave him after he and Daniel came to him for help, Ander’s detached face as he calmly left the room, the party at Francesc’s house, and then Simeone and Antoine… He feels the tears running down his face as he remembers the carnage in the house. Only now he fully realizes that he’s alone in the world. He didn’t manage to reconcile with Sergio, Simeone and Antoine are dead, David betrayed him. He has no one.

_ Or maybe not. _

He turns over and scans the wagon with his eyes. And then he sees him, Daniel, at the very back of the wagon. Whoever dragged them in, they at least took care of laying Fernando upon a bunch of straw. For Daniel they didn’t care as much, apparently. Fernando still feels lightheaded and sick to the point he’s not sure if he can trust his legs to support him with all the bumping and swaying of the wagon. He decides to crawl instead. 

After a good while of shaking him, Daniel opens his eyes slowly and Fernando feels like crying from relief. Without a doubt whatever potion was in the tea, Daniel’s was much stronger. Fernando can’t quite decide if it was a cowardly move from David, or rather just very clever.

“Where…” Daniel rasps and then reaches for his weapons on instinct as he realizes the situation.

“I think your weapons are gone,” Fernando says bluntly. “Though there must be at least a dozen men accompanying us, from what I could hear. They would be no use anyway.”

“Where are they taking us?” Daniel asks. He still doesn’t look entirely conscious and his voice sounds raw. Fernando himself feels how dry his mouth is and he doesn’t know whether to blame the crying or the drugged tea.

“I have no idea. Wherever Marquis de Silva told them to take us, probably,” Fernando admits defeatedly and then covers his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, Daniel.”

“Sorry for what?”

“It was my idea, my mistake. I trusted him, I should have never… Whatever happens to us now is my fault, whatever happens to _you_ is my fault…”

“No,” Daniel says softly and wraps his arms around Fernando. “The conspiracy behind this was so big that you trusting him doesn’t really matter. It would happen one way or another.”

Fernando knows that Daniel is probably right; he is a nobody compared to David, he couldn’t stop him even if he saw through his plan, but he still feels guilty. He wishes Simeone didn't  underestimate him, wishes Antoine had told Simeone all that he knew instead of waiting for Fernando to find out more. And he feels the most guilty because he knows that he should hate David now, and he does, but at the same time he wishes for David to be here, to touch him and hold him and stop whatever is going on, he wants to wake up back in his bed to Antoine’s smile and Simeone’s reprimanding look.

He cries himself to sleep in Daniel’s arms.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The wagon stops after many hours of riding. Fernando is half frozen when the soldiers bang on the wooden walls and order them out. They climb down, somehow managing not to fall. There is snow under their feet. Fernando has never seen snow. It rarely got cold in the City. Cloaks were for fashion, not for keeping warm, but he wishes he had one right now.

The soldiers eye them warily while one of them rides ahead to speak to a group of men. They are nothing like people Fernando’s ever seen. Most of them have beards, they are wearing leather and furs, and even their horses look different, stockier, with longer hair. Their leader, a man with a ginger beard, looks in their direction before nodding and handing the soldier a purse.

The soldiers lead them to the group, then, before retreating back to the wagon. The ginger man looks down at Fernando and Daniel. “I’m Xabi,” he says in Skaldi, like he expects them to understand. Fernando does, but Daniel just frowns. “I’m told I paid for a pair of fine D’Angelines, is that so?”

Fernando shivers. “That’s true, my lord. We are D’Angelines.”

“Bad choice of friends you have, or enemies for that matter,” Xabi comments, and Fernando can’t but agree. “Well, you belong to me now. I’m taking you to my homestead.”

“What is he saying?” Daniel hisses. 

“That we are his slaves now,” Fernando answers in a blunt voice. 

Daniel’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“The soldiers have sold us to him. We are to go to his homestead.”

Daniel seems to be utterly confused, but to Fernando it all makes sense now. David told him that he couldn’t kill him, that he didn’t _want_ to kill him. All he needed was to get rid of him, death wasn’t necessary. To sell him into slavery to some Skaldi tribe was just enough to make sure nobody would ever hear of him again. And as much as he hates David for it, he also understands that he had ordered the men to leave Daniel alive only because of him. He was as much protection as he could have provided for him, and Fernando is strangely grateful for it.

“Give them horses,” Xabi orders his men. “Guard the other one, I’ll have a talk with my new slave.”

Fernando mounts the horse they prepared for him with some effort. Not only is he half frozen, but the saddle is wider than he’s accustomed to, and the horse’s movements are different as well. 

“So I’m told you are a whore,” Xabi says casually. 

“A servant of Naamah we call it, my lord,” Fernando says.

“We call it whore,” Xabi says, unbothered. “We have no men whores where I come from.”

“Why did you buy me, then?” Fernando raises his brows.

Xabi chuckles softly. “I like to have what others don’t have, perhaps. The other one is something like a soldier, I’m told.”

“A servant of Cassiel.”

“You all seem to be servants,” Xabi spits. “You must like servitude. Then it won’t be hard for you to accustom yourselves.”

“Perhaps not for me. I can’t speak for Daniel.”

“He will have no choice,” Xabi shrugs. 

Some men in the back start a song, singing in rough voices, and the melody and lyrics make the hair on the back of Fernando’s neck rise. He stays silent for the rest of the journey, cursing David’s name and his own stupidity.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The homestead is a large building made of wood and rough stone, and a bunch of cottages scattered around it. It’s walled by a high wall of wooden poles, the only entrance being a single gate. 

Xabi jumps down his horse and hands the reins to a scrawny boy that runs to them. Other than that, nobody pays attention to them. Without a doubt Xabi wasn’t gone for long.

“Well, we shall find a place for you,” Xabi says. 

The moment he turns his back on them, Daniel moves. He snatches a sword from one of the men’s belts and charges. But not quickly enough.

There’s no doubt that Xabi is a great warrior, but he actually doesn’t have that much work with Daniel. Fighting against someone sore and tired from the long journey and the cold, hungry and with the remains of the drugs in his body wouldn’t be a challenge for any decent swordsman. He doesn’t even bother with technique, he uses just brute strength to knock the sword out of Daniel’s hand, then he kicks him in the snow and holds the tip of his sword to his neck.

“No, please!” Fernando screams and throws himself at Xabi. “Please, don’t! Please, I’ll do anything…”

Xabi’s eyes don’t leave Daniel’s face, but Fernando sees it in his posture that he’s not as determined to kill him as before, almost like his pleading actually really moved him. “I wouldn’t get far if I let live those who tried to kill me, boy,” Xabi says. “They tried once, they’ll try again.”

“He won’t,” Fernando says desperately. “Please. He’s sworn to protect me, he just tries to keep his oath. Let me talk to him and I promise he won’t try again.”

Xabi considers his words for a while. Then he slowly moves his sword away from Daniel’s neck. “Good. Tell him that killing you isn’t what I bought you for. I’d have nothing if I killed you. But if any of you disobeys me again, I’ll throw you to the dogs. Both. A fancy feed for them, but they deserve to be indulged from time to time.”

Fernando nods, trying not to think much of his words. Then he runs to Daniel and helps him up. “Are you completely mad?” he whispers.

“You should have let him kill me,” Daniel says, avoiding his eyes.

“You swore that you would protect me!” Fernando yells. “And you can’t protect me if you’re dead!” 

Daniel looks at him and there is such defeat in his eyes that Fernando feels a hollow spreading in his stomach. “I failed you,” he whispers. “I failed everyone.”

“You’ll only fail me if you die.”

“I will die anyway. Letting us live like this is no mercy, not from this savage nor from your… from Marquis de Silva.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s a chance. We have to try to make the most out of it,” Fernando says. “So try. Try for me.”

Daniel looks at him for a while. Then he lowers his eyes and nods. “For you.”

Fernando watches with aching heart as Daniel sinks to his knees and lets two of Xabi’s men tie his hands behind his back, fighting every instinct he has. Xabi turns to him and grabs his shoulder. “You have strange customs,” he notes, leading Fernando towards the double door of the biggest building. “A whore commanding a soldier. No wonder you are here now.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

They find themselves in a big hall with a long table and wooden benches. Without a doubt this is where the people spend most of the day, as it seems to be a dining room, a common room and a kitchen, all at once. Everything is made of solid wood, leather, furs and stones. There is no softness to anything around him. 

A woman dressed in a robe made of coarse blue fabric lined with fur comes up to them and looks at Xabi questioningly. 

“My wife, Nagore,” Xabi says. “When I’m gone, the homestead is under her command. Which means that you are also under her command.”

If he’s to be honest, Fernando would bet that not only him and the homestead, but also Xabi is under her command. But he has common sense, so he just bows to Nagore. “My lady,” he mumbles.

Nagore laughs. “Gods, where did you find this one?” she shakes her head.

“Bought it from some soldiers,” Xabi smirks. “For a good price.”

“I hope. I wouldn’t pay much for a fool like that.” 

“Give me something to eat, and some mulled wine,” Xabi says and sits on a wooden bench. “And for my slave as well. Seems like he’s not coping with the cold too well.”

Nagore nods to some of the women around, probably her maids. It only shows that she is too important to cook and serve the meal, but she doesn't sit at the table with Xabi either. It’s like they have their own worlds that never mingle.

The maids bring the food and wine, shooting curious glances at Fernando. The food is greasy and plain, very different from the fruit and meat with herbs Fernando knows from home, but it’s at least warm. He sips on the hot, spicy wine, and quietly hopes they fed Daniel as well, because he doesn’t dare to ask.

“I’ll have the women run him a bath and get some cleaner and warmer clothes,” Nagore says then. “If he’s to be in my house, he better not have fleas.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando indeed gets to bathe in a large wooden tub with warm water. There is a coarse scrub and some soap, and he scrubs himself clean until his skin is red, welcoming the pain. He washes his hair as well, and combs it with the wooden comb he finds next to the tub.

The clothes the women left for him are nothing like what he’s used to. The fabric is thick and coarse, but warmer than silks and velvet without a doubt. There is nothing pretty about them, as the Skaldi probably don’t find the aesthetic important enough. Everything here is simple and functional, but somehow warm and homely. 

He notices that the maids still watch him with curiosity, and the boldest one even touches a strand of his blonde hair as if to see it is real. 

“You can sleep there in the corner,” Xabi points to a pile of furs in the corner of the hall. “I advise you not to wander around by night. Men get drunk and they can have bad ideas. Or my guards on the wall could mistake you for an enemy and hit you with an arrow. Not that it hasn’t happened before.”

“The first happens more often than the latter,” Nagore mutters. 

Fernando thanks them and moves to the corner. The furs are nothing like his soft bed at home, but they are close to the large hearth and offer some welcome warmth. 

He falls asleep seconds after he closes his eyes.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Commotion wakes him up in the morning. The hall is now full of people, men and women eating, chatting and apparently getting ready to leave the homestead. Xabi is among them, going from a group of men to another, talking to them, laughing and clapping them on the shoulder. Nagore is nowhere to be seen, so she is most likely minding her own business somewhere.

Fernando pretends that he doesn’t exist until the hall is almost empty, only then he gets up and after a while finds a bucket with water to wash his face. He takes off his shirt so he doesn’t get it wet, and splashes water in his face. It’s cold, but he think that he should probably get used to it.

He doesn’t even notice the children that have gathered around him, two girls and a boy, until they speak to him.

“Are you a warrior?” the boy asks.

“No,” Fernando says.

“Then why do you have this?” the boy frowns and points at Fernando’s marque. “Only warriors can get them.”

“Not where I come from,” Fernando replies and puts on the woolen shirt. “There is other way we earn them.” 

The boy is without a doubt Xabi’s son, and the girls must be his daughters. Apparently, the boy is the oldest one, but the elder daughter seems to be the leader of their pack, much like her mother is the true queen of the homestead.

“Do you know any stories, slave?” she demands, looking at Fernando from the height of a seven-year-old and a wooden stool. 

“I do,” Fernando admits.

“Well, tell us stories,” the girl orders and climbs down. 

Fernando looks around, but nobody is paying attention to him and the children are already sat on the furs near the hearth. He sighs deeply and sits on the stool.

The stories about his own life or those he read under Francesc’s tutoring are hardly suitable for children, so he searches his memory for those he used to hear when he was a child himself. Given where he grew up, some of them are still fairly risqué, but the children seem to be devouring every word he says. Soon more of them come closer and by the time he’s done telling the first one, he has about ten kids around him.

He looks up when a shadow falls on the ground. Nagore is standing there, her arms crossed. “That’s enough stories for a day,” she says resolutely. “Leave him alone for a while, you lot.”

The children scowl but promptly leave the room, running outside. Nagore motions to a wooden tray with food and a cup of mulled wine. “Take this to that friend of yours,” she says. “He’s outside, working with the men chopping wood.”

Fernando’s eyes almost water with gratefulness. How fast he learned to be grateful for every slight of kindness scares him more than anything. “Thank you, my lady.”

Nagore just smirks like she always does when he calls her that, and leaves him alone. Fernando grabs the tray and goes outside. In the yard outside the house, men, or rather boys are chopping wood and stacking it under a wooden porch. He spots Daniel among them, carrying two heavy logs. For a while he wonders how in the world Daniel earned their trust so quickly. Then he notices the chain tying Daniel’s ankles together, and also the way the boys make sure he gets nowhere near the axes.

“Did they hurt you?” Fernando asks when they sit under the porch to hide from the falling snow.

“Nothing more than my pride,” Daniel smirks. “You?”

“No. All I had to do since morning was tell stories to a group of children.”

“Well, that’s suspicious,” Daniel notes while chewing on a stripe of dry meat. “Why would he pay such price for us only to have me carry logs, and you tell children stories? Anyone could do that.”

“I don’t know,” Fernando admits. “But at least we’re alive.”

“Is life in slavery what you want now?” Daniel frowns.

“No,” Fernando says resolutely. “But I can’t quite figure out how to get out of here if I’m dead, can I?”

“You don’t even know where we are,” Daniel says quietly. “Even if you were to get out of here, you wouldn’t know where to go.”

“I would,” Fernando says, keeping his voice from shaking. “I’d always find my way home.”

“There is no home,” Daniel whispers and puts down the empty cup before getting up. “Not anymore.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Fernando wakes up when the double door in the hall opens. He sleeps in the very back, but the cold air still whirls around, waking him up. He pulls the furs closer and closes his eyes, knowing that if he pretends to be asleep, he might find out more.

“Everything’s ready,” Xabi’s voice gets to him. “Tell the women to get the food ready until morning, we’ll leave at first light.”

“How long will you be gone?” Nagore asks. It’s not a voice of a woman fearing to be abandoned, she asks in the voice of a fellow general discussing a strategy.

“No one knows,” Xabi sighs, sitting down wearily at the long table. The wooden bench screeches. “As long as the council takes. It could be a few days, if everything goes well. But as I know some of the tribes and their leaders, it could as well be weeks until they swallow their pride and reach an agreement.”

Nagore mutters something Fernando can’t understand. Then there’s silence, as Xabi is probably enjoying a cup of wine or mead. “The children are asleep?” he asks then. “I’d take Jon with me tomorrow…”

“In your dreams,” Nagore barks. “Jon is a child. He has nothing to do in a council where you drink all days and exchange curses.”

“He will be a man soon,” Xabi objects.

“Oh yes. This man you talk about prefers listening to silly stories your slave tells him. Ane would sooner grab a sword than him. She already commands half the homestead.”

Xabi chuckles heartily, to Fernando’s surprise. “If she wants a sword, I’ll give her a sword. Might as well be an axe. I can imagine with what taste she would throw it,” he says. “So the slave knows stories, you say?”

“More than my old nan. I still don’t know what you want with the boy, though,” Nagore mutters. “He’s not good for work. Not born to work nor to fight.”

Fernando strains his ears.

“I don’t intend to keep him. I’ll take him to the North tomorrow,” he hears Xabi say. “I’m quite sure Robert will appreciate my gift.”

In that moment, the last part of Fernando that was still warm, his blood, freezes in his veins.


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con trigger warning for this chapter.

Whatever is supposed to happen in the North, it’s an important thing. Fernando estimates that half of Xabi’s homestead goes with him - only men, though, which adds to the feeling that this is going to be important. Fernando understands that the Skaldi don’t underestimate or disrespect women, as he used to read in the books he found in Simeone’s library. It’s more like the women themselves prefer not to mingle in the affairs of men, just because they are above them and deem them childish games most of the time. They leave the politics, if it can be called that on this level, up to them, because they have their own wars to fight. They fight the cold and the hunger, the nature, the bloody war that is childbirth, they lead the army of workers that keep the homestead a place where people can live and thrive. And the men apparently admire them for their strength, even though they don’t make it obvious.

Besides horses, they are taking two wagons loaded with gifts and food, and as Fernando supposes, he and Daniel are deemed to be gifts as well because they get to travel in one of the wagons with an escort of at least half a dozen of armed men. Not that he would prefer traveling on horseback in the cold, but the hard, rocky roads make the traveling experience no less painful.

Daniel stays silent for long hours. They are far from the last remnants of civilization. It’s been miles since they saw the last, half-fallen, long abandoned cottage. Where they are now, the nature reigns and the animals do not even run away when they see them, as they don’t know men well enough to be afraid of them.

“You know where we are going,” Daniel states then, out of nowhere.

Fernando looks through one of the gaps between the planks that make the walls of the wagon, protecting them at least somehow from the harsh weather. The Skaldi are far enough from the wagon. 

“Yes,” he admits. “We’re going up North. To the council of the tribes.”

“The council of the tribes?” Daniel frowns. “What is that?”

“I think the leaders of the Skaldi tribes are supposed to meet in one place and reach some agreement. It’s what Robert is trying to achieve. To unite them. Create an army big enough to conquer any land.”

“And why are _we_ going there?” 

Fernando takes a deep breath. “I think we are Xabi’s gifts to Robert,” he says slowly. “Or at least I am.”

Daniel keeps looking at him. “No,” he says then.

“The Skaldi are like that… they’ll try to get Robert the best gift to beat the rest, because once they win something, they’ll want the best portion of the loot… and there will be plenty to wye for,” Fernando sighs.

“I’d rather kill us both, right now,” Daniel says.

“I don’t doubt you’d manage that even without your weapons, but you cannot do that,” Fernando shakes his head. 

Daniel looks at him defiantly. “Why not?” 

“Because the land Robert wants is most likely our home,” Fernando says. “And we are its only hope.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The travel takes days. Skaldia is a land larger than Fernando imagined. Large, but empty. They can travel for hours and not see anything a human hand had touched. 

Finally, after about a week on the road, when Fernando feels like his very bones have transformed into ice, when his body is sore and bruised by the constant bumping of the wagon, and when he feels like he is covered by a layer of dirt as thick as a carpet, they come across some small villages. But most of them are in ruins, burnt to the ground, apparently not a long time ago. The Skaldi argue about it all the time, guessing which tribe is responsible and whether they had the right to do it. Fernando doesn’t think they did, and he prefers not to know why they did it.

The villages grow bigger as they advance, and finally they arrived to what looks like city walls, except it’s made of wood. When they ride through the gate, though, Fernando realizes that it’s not a city. It’s something like Xabi’s steading, but much bigger. This must be Robert’s home.

The place is full of people speaking a mixture of Skaldi dialects, suggesting that they belong to different tribes. Most of them don’t pay Xabi’s men any attention. It makes the fact that he was willing to spend money on two d’Angeline slaves much more understandable. He needs to make an impression on Robert to have a say in their affairs.

After they are given their proper place to stay, the men go to tend to the horses and unload the food they brought to the meeting, as it seems that it’s a courtesy among the Skaldi not to let the host feed the guests. Xabi asks some of the women from Robert’s steading, most likely slaves, to fetch and warm up some water, as everyone has to make themselves presentable before meeting Robert. Fernando is quite sure that in the Skaldi clothing and after days on the road, he doesn’t look his best, and it surprises him how much it bothers him. But if he wants to live, he does have to make an impression on Robert. Because a refused gift has no value. Xabi would most probably either kill them, or sell them to the first person offering at least somewhat decent price.

Finally, the evening comes and everyone gathers in a large hall. The Skaldi are usually loud, but now even them act different, as though it would be disrespectful to shout or laugh in that place. And then, Robert walks through the heavy double door of the hall.

Fernando expected a monster. But Robert is no monster, no bloodthirsty animal only listening to its instincts. On the contrary, there is something cunning in his blue eyes, and apart from the scar above his upper lip, there is nothing unpleasant about his face. But it’s actually what scares Fernando more than if he saw a monster. The smarter they are, the crueler people can be. A simple brute only knows how to hurt physically. Those that think know how to play mind games. 

He only sees him for a moment before his view is obscured by the chiefs of the tribes making way to him. It looks almost like an audience. They greet him and present him with their gifts, and Robert apparently didn’t expect anything else.

Xabi’s men push him and Daniel forward, until they are standing in front of Robert. Xabi grins proudly.  “I present you with two d’Angeline slaves I acquired for you,” he says. “This one is trained in the art of love, they say.”

“So Xabi got Robert a noble whore,” someone in the crows shouts and the men start laughing heartily.

Robert doesn’t look impressed.  “And the other one?” he asks.

“He’s a guard of some sort,” Xabi explains, visibly embarrassed.

“Well, I have enough slaves,” Robert says. “And I can always get myself some more.”

The chiefs around Xabi smirk contentedly.

“But it’s true that I’ve never seen slaves that would be d’Angelines,” Robert adds. “I thought they were rich enough not to sell their own people to us savages.”

“Money wasn’t the reason, my lord,” Fernando says quietly.

Robert raises his brows in surprise when he hears Fernando speak his own language. “Wasn’t it?” he asks.

“We were betrayed and sold by people who want the throne to belong to someone else than the rightful king,” Fernando explains. 

“Well, the throne will belong to the one who conquers it,” Robert smiles and looks at Xabi. “And it seems that these slaves might know things that could help me conquer it. I accept your gift, Xabi.”

Xabi’s grin grows wider while the faces of the chiefs around him fall. 

“Let’s get to the real talk,” Robert says then. “My men will take care of your friends in the meanwhile.”

The chiefs follow him in the room behind the double door, while the rest of the men stay in the hall. Members of Robert’s household appear with food and drinks, filling the air with the delicious smell of roasted meat, honey, herbs and mead. 

Fernando keeps looking at the men around him. Some look even wilder than those from Xabi’s household. Most of them have the typical looks of the Skaldi, blond, almost white hair,sometimes braided, blue or grey eyes and pale skin. He’s always imagined Robert that way, too, and the fact that the leader of the Skaldi has hair that looks almost black in the dim light is kind of unsettling.

Thought the color of Robert’s hair might be the least important thing right now.

Then he notices that there are not only men in the hall. There is a woman in the middle of a group of the Skaldi, but she clearly doesn’t belong with them, she belongs _to_ them. She is small and skinny, without a doubt a poor girl they found in one of the villages they raided on their way here. She may have been pretty before, she might be pretty even now, under all the bruises and tangled hair, but Fernando can only focus on her hands, her bony fingers clawing at the furs and wood as she tries to escape her tormentor, a man probably even younger than Fernando, with heavily tattooed arms. He always lets her crawl a few inches and then pulls her back, as if it’s some kind of a cruel game. The other men cheer him on, shouting in a language Fernando doesn’t understand although he does understand the standard Skaldi. They must speak some dialect of their tribe.

Fernando sees the moment the girl gives up, spreading her fingers and lowering herself on the ground, exhausted by the game she could never win. He flips her over on her back, not needing any force at all, like he is flipping a page in a book. His hand comes to rest on her throat but there is no need for such threat. She lays motionless on the ground, knees spread wide as he takes her, staring up at his face, although she might not see him at all. Her expression is blank, almost surprised, and she never makes a sound. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

He only has enough time to put himself together after what he’s just witnessed when the heavy double door flies open. The chiefs of the tribes pour out first, some in a joyful mood, some less ecstatic, but still looking quite contented. It seems like they reached some kind of agreement. Xabi is among them, and judging by his face, he is among those who can expect to be rewarded.

Then Robert walks out, accompanied by some men from his steading, giving them orders and discussing something Fernando doesn’t understand, but that probably isn’t related to whatever was discussed inside.

As they approach them, Daniel’s hand wanders to his side on instinct, before he realizes that his weapons are long gone. Robert gives them one look before turning to his men. “Get the slave in my bedroom,” he says. “And the guard… somewhere he will not get any stupid ideas.”

Before he can say anything, Robert’s men push him forward, leading him out of the hall and across half of the steading, until they reach what looks like a large cottage from the outside. But when they walk in, Fernando could think he was in some hunting room of a lord’s palace.

Robert walks in mere moments after that. He acts like Fernando isn’t even in the room. He takes off the fur coat, picks at some meat and bread and pours himself a cup of wine before sitting in an armchair that looks like it’s made from one piece of wood, a tree so big Fernando can’t even imagine it, but he knows that such trees grow in Skaldia. 

“Undress,” he says then.

Fernando just stares at him, as Robert’s voice simply doesn’t go with the command. It’s calm, cold and emotionless, and the last sound is lost when he raises the cup of wine to his lips.

“I said undress, slave, what part of it didn’t you understand?” 

This time his voice sounds more dangerous, and Fernando doesn’t need any more hints. He pulls on the rough woolen clothes he’s been given, then on his own silks. Despite the fire burning in the fireplace, he shivers as soon as the air hits his bare skin.

Robert watches him intently. Fernando waits for him to get up and touch him, but Robert never does. “Isn’t it a shame for this body to only serve some people’s pleasure?” he asks, more himself than Fernando. “You could have been a soldier with such body. Young, tall, strong… Serve your King and your people.”

“I served Naamah, my lord,” Fernando says calmly. “Not people.”

“Ah… it’s that… deity of yours,” Robert muses and it surprises Fernando that he knows about his culture, that he actually cares. “The strange companion of yours doesn’t serve her, though, I reckon?”

“No, my lord,” Fernando replies, feeling the awkwardness of the situation. They are having a deep, religious conversation with him naked and Robert having dinner while watching him. “He serves Cassiel. He’s trained in fighting and protecting people, not pleasing them.”

“He must be a good warrior, then.”

“He is, my lord, from what I’ve seen.”

“Interesting. And I suppose he was assigned to protect you?”

Fernando nods, searching Robert’s face for clues, but it remains expressionless.

“He didn't do a good job, then.”

“There are things that weapons and strength can’t protect you from, my lord,” Fernando says calmly. “Betrayal, for example.”

Something flashes in Robert’s eyes, and if Fernando’s eyes don’t deceive him, it’s recognition. “True,” he says then and lays down the cup. “A lesson we always learn the hard way.”

He gets up and it takes all remnants of Fernando’s courage not to flinch. Robert isn’t even that big in person, he definitely is not as tall and bulky as Fernando imagined him. He must be quite level with him, actually, but it’s not his body that looks menacing. It’s something that radiates from within him. Something that tells everyone with enough common sense that it’s better not to cross this man’s path.

“On the bed, slave,” he says. “Face down.”

Fernando obeys smoothly. He is determined not to give in to any games like the one he’s seen before outside. He knows that he couldn’t win anyway.

He keeps his eyes on the furs covering the bed, but he shoots one quick side look at Robert as he hears the rest of his clothes hit the floor. Compared to the patrons he’s had, Robert is _big_. Francesc taught him to never compare, so he’s never made any lists in his head, but he knows for sure that he’s never had a patron this well endowed.

The bed isn’t soft enough to dip when Robert climbs on it, but he still knows when he does. It makes all the hair on the back of his neck rise up.

From what he feels and hears, Robert is pumping his cock.

“Now listen, slave,” he says as though he is not doing what he’s doing. “Every evening I come here, I want you to wait for me here like this. Naked on the bed. Understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” Fernando replies quietly.

“They’ll know you’re my bitch, and they’d never touch something that’s mine. But displease me, and I’ll throw you out for everyone to have fun with you. And I’ll do the same thing with that strange friend of yours. Understand?”

Fernando shivers. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good,” Robert says and without further comments he grips Fernando’s hips with his large, rough hands.

There is no art in what Robert does. He doesn’t regard Fernando as anyone special. He doesn’t know about his gift or curse, however people call it, and he probably wouldn’t care. He’s nothing more than a slave to him, a body to be used, and it’s not a game like it used to be with all his patrons, it’s the way Robert really sees him. 

And no matter how much he hates it, it’s strangely comforting. Finally, someone isn’t trying to deceive him. He doesn’t have to fear betrayal from someone like Robert. The worst thing Robert would do to him would be killing him.

And it would be much, much better than what David has done to him.


End file.
